


CharaTale

by BarkingPup



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Body Horror, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Melting, No romance except canon, Possession, Time Shenanigans, Unsafe Child Rearing, everything i touch turns to angst, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-05-20 16:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6017560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarkingPup/pseuds/BarkingPup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sight of your only friends dust fills you with determination.</p><p>Y<br/>O<br/>U</p><p>R<br/>E<br/>S<br/>E<br/>T</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can follow the story on my tumblr!
> 
> http://barkingpup49.tumblr.com/

_A long time ago, a human fell into the RUINS_

“Oh… heh, wow this is weird. Is that… is that my body?”

_The underground was full of hope_

“Shush, you crybaby. This was the plan, remember? We’re going to free the monsters, you, Mum and Dad…”

_Then... One day..._

_The human became very ill._

“I know… I'm sorry… I'm sorry I made you-”

_“_ Listen. Please.”

_“_ I’m not a very good person. I don't- didn't deserve this hope and- and….” 

 

_The sick human had only one request._

_To see the flowers from their village._

“Never mind. Let’s just… go see the flowers, Kay?”

_The human died._

“Why are you taking my- that? I can see them just fine from here! I-”

 

_With the human SOUL, ASRIEL crossed through the barrier._  
_He carried the human's body into the sunset._ _  
Back to the village of the humans._

“I do like the flowers. They… they were so beautiful… in such an ugly place.”

“Well of course it looks nice from the mountain. Let’s just… go to the village.”

 

_ASRIEL reached the center of the village._  
_There, he found a bed of golden flowers._ _  
He carried the human onto it._

“Hey…. Asriel?”

“.....”

“I'm… I'm so sorry.”

 

_Suddenly, screams rang out._  
_The villagers saw ASRIEL holding the human's body._ _  
They thought that he had killed the child._

“No! You don't understand! We need the souls to save everyone! This is what we need to- stop fighting me! You know we do so why are you-”

_The humans attacked him with everything they had._ _  
He was struck with blow after blow._

“You IDIOT! Fight! They won't stop they never stop they will keep hurting you until- Let me do it! PLEASE!”

_ASRIEL had the power to destroy them all._

_But..._

_ASRIEL did not fight back._

“A….A-Asriel?”

 

_Clutching the human..._ _  
ASRIEL smiled, and walked away._

“Hey…. Are you okay?”

 

_Wounded, ASRIEL stumbled home._

_"_ D-don't fall down, okay? Just… keep hoping. Don't worry, we’re almost home…”

_“_ Mom can fix this, r-right? I…”

 

_He entered the castle and collapsed._

“No.”

 

_His dust spread across the garden._

_"_ N-no….”

“No….”

“This…. This wasn't supposed to happen! This wasn't part of the plan! I-I’m so sorry! No no no sorry I'm s-so so-o-orry.”

 

_The sight of your only friends dust fills you with determination._

_Y_

_O_

_U_

 

_R_

_E_

_S_

_E_

_T_ _  
_


	2. Frisk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can follow the story on my tumblr!
> 
> http://barkingpup49.tumblr.com/

It was quiet in the school’s office. Broken only by the  _ tak tak tak  _ of the secretary’s keyboard, a distant phone ringing quickly silenced with a murmur of voices, the  _ rrrrnnnnn _ of a file cabinet sliding open with a rustle of papers and the repetitive  _ dun dun _ of small sneakers hitting one of the vaguely comfortable chairs as the occupant waited. Hooded, sleepy eyes under messy brown bangs stared unerringly at the bowed head of the secretary, mouth thinned and set into a scowl. 

 

The ancient phone rang and the secretary’s head popped over the desk, manicured hands lifting the receiver and a murmured “hello?” A pause, head tilted over the receiver as hands tacked on the keyboard. Slightly bloodshot eyes flickered to the seated child. The child’s face slid quickly into a neutral expression, still staring. The woman’s own mouth turned down at the corners and she glanced down at her screen.

 

“I am truly sorry but-” Her brows drew together, lips pressed together so tightly the colour drained from around them. “I understand but your child-” Her jaw twitched. “...Miss, the Principal has requested your presence and  _ someone _ needs to be here to take your child home….. Alright…. Yes…. Goodbye.”  _ Click. _

 

The secretary sighed, eyes inevitably going to the child seated on the chair. A blank, expressionless face stared back. The woman attempted to muster a smile. “Good news, Frisk! Your mother is on her way!”

 

_ The child stared. _

 

The corner of her smile twitched. 

 

_ The child stared. _

 

She hurriedly went back to her computer, typing random keys to avoid the relentless gaze. 

 

_ Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick _

 

The phone rang and she glanced up to answer it. 

 

_ The child stared. _

 

The secretary shuddered and kicked her chair around, gripping the receiver white knuckled as she muttered a greeting.

 

_ The child smiled. _

 

The bell rang, slightly muffled through the walls of the office. Over the cacophony of children spilling out into the hallways, the percussion of heels on tile grew closer. The child’s gaze lifted from the back of the secretary’s head and sleepy eyes turned to the office doors just as they flew open.

 

“What have they done now?” 

 

The secretary twisted in her chair, mustering up a smile. “I’ll be right with you, Miss-”

 

With a fierce scowl, the newcomer crossed her grey clad arms, a puff of flowery perfume accompanying the action. “I’m very busy and took  _ time  _ out of  _ my  _ day to drive all the way here because I was called. I expect to be seen immediately so I can get back to my  _ job _ .”

 

The secretary’s smile drifted down at the corners as she muttered a hasty excuse to the person on the line. The receiver clicked. “Of course. I'll just notify Mr. Hackley that you’re here.” 

 

As the secretary began dialing the Principal's extension, narrowed eyes turned to the child sitting on the chair. Frisk bowed their head, staticky brown hair drifting to block out the sight of pressed grey pants and black heels.

 

They heard the tack of heels as their mother approached. The crawling, ugly feeling of eyes on their back. 

 

“Frisk. Look at me.”

 

Small hands fisted within the confines of their sleeves, yet their face never altered. Slowly, they lifted their eyes to stare over their mother's shoulder. Ignoring the way her bright red lips thinned and shaped brows drew down. Polyester rustled as their mother kneeled, hand reaching out to grip Frisk’s shoulder. 

 

“Frisk,” she hissed. “This is the second time this week I've been called from work. Two times too many.” Her hand tightened, fingers pressing into bone. “I swear if I-”

 

“Mr. Hackley will see you now!”

 

Their mother paused, sighed, and stood. “Come on, quickly, so I can get back to work.” Her heels tak tak taked across the tile as she walked the familiar route to the Principal's office. Frisk slid off the chair, wincing surreptitiously as their shoulder twinged. They tottered after their mother, not sparing a glance for the secretary’s toothy smile.

 

They followed. Into the office, the door clicking behind them. Mr. Hackley gestured to the two well worn purple seats in front of his desk. He was an aged man, a few wisps of hair clinging to his temples, framing the thick bags and wrinkles under his eyes. Their mother sat, crossing her legs and folding her hands, shoulders tense. Frisk followed hesitantly, having to clamber onto the second seat, their legs swinging. Yet they stared, blank faced, at the Principal, eyes hidden behind the familiar squint.

 

Mr. Hackley sighed, picking up a folder on his desk. “I am terribly sorry for bothering you but Frisk has once again been fighting on the playground.”

 

Frisk dared a glance at their mother’s face and watched as her mouth tightened even further. “I am truly sorry to hear that. Was anyone injured?”

 

“A few bruises on the other child's part but nothing serious. I am, however, more worried about Frisk. This is not the first time you have been called in and certainly not the first incident.”

 

Their mother’s hands clenched into fists. “I am aware. I will make sure it doesn't happen again-”

 

“Also not the first time I am  hearing that.”

 

There was a pause. Mr. Hackley giving their mother a pointed glance. Their mother’s hands tightened even further and Frisk eyed the white crescents of her nails, wondering if they would break skin and drip blood. 

 

Their mother broke first. “Yes, and? What, exactly, is the  _ point _ you are trying to make?”

 

The Principal flipped open the folder, papers rustling as he placed it on the desk and slid it over to their mother. “I am afraid Frisk has received their last suspension before expulsion. The first two were for more serious offences,” he glanced at the blank child. “Pushing other children down the stairs is not an acceptable way to deal with problems. However, the minor incidences such as throwing things, tripping, pushing, and such have become a part of this decision to suspend them one last time. We truly hate to do this to such a… bright young student but the safety of others is also a priority. I hope you understand.”

 

Frisk’s mother barely glanced at the folder, nails digging into her palms. “Yes, I do. May I ask how long this suspension will be?”

 

“Two weeks. There will be homework and classwork to catch up on… I believe a certain Mandy Gockler lives near your address?” A tight nod. “Excellent. Classwork will be sent home with her and delivered as she’s a smart girl. Now there is one other thing we must discuss before you leave.”

 

“Yes?” Their mother managed through gritted teeth.

 

“The counsellor and I have agreed that perhaps Frisk needs a… little more guidance. Here is a sheet of some excellent child psychologist and therapists. I know it’s a difficult thing but this behaviour is… worrisome. And I would hate to lose a student simply because they're a little energetic.” He smiled, jowls quivering.

 

Their mother uncurled her hands to grasp at the paper, the crinkle of crisp sheets warping under stress filling the office. She smiled, teeth gleaming. “Is that all, Mr. Harkley?”

 

“It certainly is. I hope to see you back at school in two weeks, Frisk.” He sent a gentle smile at the silent child.

 

_ The child stared. _

 

“Well,” the Principal coughed. “I'm sure you know your way out. I do hope you utilise one of those professionals.” He gathered the folder back and stood, leaning over his desk, wrinkled hand outstretched. 

 

Their mother stood and shook it. Once. Twice. And drop.

 

“It has been a pleasure talking with you.”

 

“You as well. Come, Frisk.”

 

Their mother turned sharply and opened the door with a bang, long legs quickly moving away. Frisk slid off the chair and hurried after her, their worn sneakers barely making a sound. The secretary called a farewell but their mother brushed by, the doors swinging shut behind her.

 

The secretary scowled, “bitch.” Muttered under her breath.

 

_ The child stared. _

 

“O-oh, you're still here? I think your mother has already left the building. Better go catch up!” 

 

Frisk gave the secretary one last neutral gaze before pushing the office doors open and rushing to the school entrance, sliding through the still cracked doors and into the sunlight. 

 

The secretary let her smile fall and thanked whatever God was listening that she didn't have to deal with the creepy child for another two weeks. And after that, hopefully never again.

 

The car ride was tense. Frisk’s mother gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather creaked and took turns with sharp jerks, her jewelry flashing as she shoulder checked and flung them around. Frisk stared out at the scenery, hands twisted together in their lap. Eventually, the small lots of houses and manicured lawns became streetlights and tall buildings, the road branching into two lanes. Traffic increased and Frisk took to counting all of the red vehicles they saw. Not many. Grey, it seemed, was the preferred color. Eventually their mother turned into the parking lot of a squat insurance building. The car was parked and the engine turned off.

 

Hands still gripping the steering wheel, their mother faced them, brows drawn tight. Frisk waited passively. Their mothers’ mouth opened. Closed. She frowned. Unclipped her seat belt and opened the door. Frisk hurried to follow, picking up their small brown backpack before the beep of the automatic locks engaged. They followed their mother into the building, the smell of lemon cleaner making them wrinkle their nose. They passed several offices, their mothers heels muffled by the rough carpet. Finally, their mother stopped at one and glanced down.

 

“Well? You know what’s expected of you.”

 

Frisk nodded and hurried further down the hallway. They turned, entering the largest space in the building. To their right was generic tables and hard plastic chairs of different colors and styles. Along the back wall was a simple kitchen with a small sink. A coffee maker burbled on the countertop, several cups awaiting refilling nearby. A microwave sat atop the small fridge and various passive aggressive notices littered the area around it. 

 

Frisk opened their backpack and pulled out a sketchpad and their prized collection of pencil crayons. Both were worn, haphazard things but to Frisk they were everything. Many a long shift had been spent with nothing but the rumpled pages and bitten pencils in their hands. A quick glance at the clock and they checked their pack’s front pocket for the snacks they had pilfered from other children’s lunchboxes that day. There had been no bread this morning, as with yesterday morning. So their usual peanut butter and honey sandwich was forgone for quick fingers and parent-packed lunches. A cursory check, a banana pulled out and set aside to be eaten, and Frisk determinedly began to sketch. Pad settled on their drawn up knees as they hunched in their favourite red chair.

 

Time passed. Several people came and went. Refilling coffee mugs and joking about that day's irate customers. Tired, shuffled steps towards the caffeine as they checked watches and sighed. Many sat with their own lunches, the beep of the microwave a constant backdrop. Sometimes there would be a smile and a quick greeting towards the small child sitting at the farthest table. Most of those were ignored. The pile of wrappers and cores slowly spread around the quiet corner, the scritch scritch of pencil on paper barely slowing.

 

Eventually, Frisk glanced up at the clock. They placed the bright blue pencil back into the beaten box it came from and sighed. A slight melancholic look was sent to the sketchpad before it settled back into the usual neutral expression. Frisk flipped the sketchpad shut, adjusting the rings on top, and placed the crayons and the book back into their bag. Wrappers, cores and peels were picked up and dumped into the nearby garbage. They wiped their hands on their jeans, took one last glance around, and exited.

 

They halted by the same door their mother had stopped at. It was closed and they leaned against the wall, staring at the other side. It didn't take long before the door opened and their mother came out, purse slung over her shoulder and car keys in hand. Their mother strode down the hallway, barely giving Frisk a glance and they hurried to catch up. The ride home was not as tense, the hours spent at work having mellowed the memory of the Principal’s office. The crumpled paper on the dash was a grim reminder, however, and Frisk noticed their mother's gaze occasionally flickering over to it.

 

Home was a small house with barely a yard but the entirety of Mount. Ebott as a backyard. The small, single story houses were dwarfed by the tree covered expanse of the mountain. When the sun hit a certain peak the shadow of it spread across several blocks, driving the property values down quite a bit. The neighbourhood was mostly populated by retirees who fed the birds, squirrels, and rabbits living in their backyard. 

 

Their mother, ever the diplomat, waved to all the housecoated, slippered neighbours as they drove slowly by. Most ignored it, pulling out the evening edition newspapers, or continuing their weeding. They were an old fashioned lot and did not appreciate a single mother habituating their quiet street. Complaints had been filed but all dropped as the ever silent Frisk had most definitely never set off firecrackers or carved things into doorways but they had their suspicions.

 

Their mother pulled into the similar looking driveway to the same looking house and shut off the car, hurriedly opening the front door and leaving Frisk to follow. Frisk grabbed the list of therapists and quickly stuffed them into their backpack. Out of sight, out of mind they hoped. They didn't bother to undo their shoes, simply sliding them off and placing them like their mother wanted; neatly lined up inside the hall closet. A furtive glance around, confirming their mother was in the kitchen, and they dashed upstairs as quietly as they could.

 

Their room was not large but it was theirs. They could relax as soon as the door clicked shut. A small bed was shoved against the opposite side, pink patterned sheets rumpled and strewn about. A small coffee table sat in the middle of the room, beaten, scratched and covered in papers. To their immediate left was a dresser, one of the drawers partially opened and the contents spilling out. The walls were covered in drawings of various skill. Vague scribblings with blocky lettering all the way up to their current style. 

 

Frisk dropped their pack by the coffee table and went to their dresser. They grabbed one of the sweaters dangling from the drawer and gave it a quick sniff test before nodding and pulling it on over their T-shirt. The baggy thing fell to their knees and covered their hands but they would grow into it. They sat at the coffee table and eyed the half finished homework and sketches decorating it. A few pushes, a little bit of reshuffling and they had a workspace. The sketchbook and pencil crayons were once again removed from their pack and they settled in to finish their earlier drawing.

 

The sun setting, casting the room into shadow until they could barely see the page is what finally brought Frisk back to themselves. Their single window glowed orange, the shadow of Mount. Ebott a gloomy picture in the darkening sky. They placed their sketchbook and crayons down and stood. Tiptoeing to their door they pressed an ear and listened.

 

The murmur of voices barely legible.

 

Mother was watching TV. Which meant they had a good chance at sneaking by to grab something from the kitchen.

 

Frisk straightened and frowned at the door.

 

_ The sight of the sunset on your door fills you with determination. _

 

A decisive nod and they carefully opened it. Listen. Tiptoe on socked feet to the top of the stairs. Listen. Slowly begin the descent, freezing as they forget about the creaky one. Listen. The flickering of the television from the dark living room, a shadowy figure slumped on the couch. Watch. Smooth, easy movements are more difficult to see in the dark-

 

“Frisk? Is that you?”

 

Freeze.

 

“What are you doing out of bed? It’s past your bedtime.”

 

The shadow stood up, wine glass in hand, and approached on unsteady feet. Frisk couldn't escape now, they had been spotted. A brief thought crossed their mind of forgetting about eating and going back to bed. Hopefully there would be bread in the morning, and possibly an empty driveway and silent house…

 

The shadow leaned over them, breath sharp. “Did… did you think I forgot about today? About all that…. Stuff?” A hand grasped a bony shoulder, squeezing. “You don't...d-deserve me. I'm a good m...mother and thisssss is how I r-r… repaid me?”

 

Frisk grimaced. Their mother swayed, fingers digging deeper into the joint of their shoulder as she struggled to keep upright. 

 

“Y….you little  _ shit. _ I g-g-gave you eeeeverything! I have- I don't want yoooou. Y-you should j….just...” the hand lifted off their shoulder, arm raised, palm open prepared to strike-

 

_ The sight of the sunset on your door fills you with determination. _

 

Frisk glared at the orange painted door. They would have to wait for their mother to stagger off to bed before attempting a kitchen raid. It would be several hours of mindless television and many glasses of wine later before she would collapse, however. They may as well nap while they could. Frisk went back to the coffee table and picked up their finished picture. They carried it to bed, not bothering to take off their jeans or sweater before unballing the pink sheets and snuggling into them. 

 

They stared at the picture in their hands. Two large white adults stood behind two identically dressed children. One as white as the adults, the other with a head of brown messy hair. The details were vague; a hint of a purple dress, long white hair, large hands. But all four wore bright smiles. Frisk couldn't help but smile back as they slowly drifted off to sleep.


	3. Knife to a Gun Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, so we finally get to the Underground! Those last two chapters were supposed to be one big one but I decided against it.
> 
> So here we go, the adventure starts!
> 
> Also, please don't bring a knife to a gun fight.

The sun woke them. Creeping across their face and into their eyes. They scrunched their face and opened their eyes, peeling their cheek off the picture. A shiver went down their spine despite the safety of their room. They tried… but squinted their eyes almost shut a second later. Progress. Sort of.

 

According to the sun they had slept longer than intended. Their stomach growled, angry at the broken promises last night. Frisk approached the door.

 

_ The sight of the sunrise on your door fills you with Determination. _

 

They listened. Silence. They cracked the door and listened again. Silence.

 

Satisfied, Frisk exited their room and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. An empty mug and a plate covered in grease was on the table. A quick glance out the kitchen window confirmed the empty driveway. They wondered if mother had gone shopping yet.

 

Cupboards bare except for a few dried boxed goods, the fridge humming around some condiments, and a glance at the ice covered freezer said no. Frisk pulled the stepstool to the sink and filled a glass with water. There was a box of saltines in the cupboard and an almost empty jar of peanut butter in the fridge. Good enough.

 

They sat at the table, peanut butter, crackers and water arrayed before them. It was messy, the peanut butter kept dripping off the crackers and the crackers themselves were crumbly and slightly stale. But with the help of water it filled them up a bit. Frisk swiped some peanut butter off the table and sucked on their finger. The cracker box and peanut butter jar was empty so they tossed both in the trash. The gloopy knife was licked clean and put back in the drawer. They filled the glass back up and went into the living room. 

 

The sun was high now, shining brightly onto the TV. In the distance they could see the taller buildings of the city. Frisk sipped their water. The front door clicked.

 

_ What?! _ The sun was too high for mother to be back. She never locked the door so maybe the wind had pushed it open? No… no those were footsteps. Too heavy and trying to be silent. Frisk reached into their jean pocket and pulled out their switchblade, snicking it open with the ease of practice.

 

“Who the fuck leaves their door open during the day?”

 

“Shut up, man, makes it an easy job.”

 

“You sure no ones home?”

 

“I watched the car drive off and haven't seen movement in hours, it’s fine.”

 

A dark clad figure came past the foyer. Dark eyes caught Frisk’s face and he blanched.

 

“Fuck! Dude, there’s a kid!”

 

“WHAT?! No way!”

 

Frisk threw the glass of water. It hit the first man’s face, shattering on impact and sending glass and water everywhere. He screeched and put his hands to his face. He was blocking the second man, who couldn't advance and was now looking panicked. Frisk tensed, gripping the switchblade. The second man reached into his hoody pocket and-

 

_ Oh for- _

 

BANG!

 

_ The sight of the sunrise on your door fills you with Determination. _

 

Who in the world brings a gun to a break in? And puts the stupid thing in a hoody pocket?! It’s just asking for it to go off accidentally and injure someone. Then again, they had unknowingly brought a knife to a gun fight.

 

Frisk sighed. They had better start packing. Their school books and gym clothes were flung to the corner of the room. They picked several selections of jeans and sweaters, sniffing and discarding several. Their backpack couldn't hold much but it would have to do. Their sketchbook and pencils went in next, tucked nicely into the front. They grabbed the bottom drawer of their dresser and pulled it all the way open, rifling around. Ah, here it was. Under the piles of socks and underwear was a small change purse. They didnt have to count it, they knew exactly how much money was inside. They slung the backpack onto their shoulders and patted the switchblade pocket. Good. Time to scram.

 

They forwent the peanut butter and crackers, they would buy something at the small bakery. It pained them to spend their hard earned cash but they considered this an emergency of sorts. They took a moment to ensure they had nothing else to pack then headed down to the front door and outside.

 

Was it too late to pretend they had to go to school? Hm, probably. They could see the van parked across the street, the driver smoking out the window. Frisk began to walk with purpose. Maybe they were going to a friend's house? Yeah. That seemed convincing. They tried to look excited, even did some jumping over cracks.

 

The van and their house vanished when they turned the corner and they sighed. The bakery was only a few blocks ahead, one of the few small shops around Ebott. The area used to be a very small village before companies had started buying the land. A city had bloomed but the remnants of the small town still lingered here and there.

 

Frisk grinned as they approached the neighborhood park. This was their favourite part. The neighbourhood was mostly retirees so the park had slowly been consumed by the wildlife. The few kids that did come around quickly grew bored with the single slide and small monkey bars. Here, under the shelter of the deciduous trees and by the chittering of mammals Frisk could draw to their hearts content. They headed through the shortcut, gleefully walking through the yellow flowers that grew everywhere around Ebott. The crushed petals let off a sweet scent and they breathed it in happily.

 

Past the park and they could see the small brick bakery up the street. Their stomach grumbled and they walked a tad faster eager for food. The bell above the door dingled and the cashier glanced up, smiling.

 

“Oh, Frisk! How wonderful to see you again!”

 

They nodded and began to peruse the selection. 

 

“We do have a brand new muffin available. The Carrot Caper, a wonderful blend of carrot, bran and capers into one delicious muffin!”

 

Frisk thought, then gave the cashier a thumbs up. They reached into their pocket for the change purse.

 

“Oh don't worry about that, it’s on the house. Haven't sold a single one since he made them. To be honest they taste rather… interesting. But I know you’ll eat them and that will make him happy.” She smiled down at the child.

 

Frisk shrugged and put their money back. They accepted the bag, noting it had two muffins inside, and sat at one of the tables. The bakery had seen better days. The linoleum was scuffed and peeling, the ornate metal furniture rusting, and the previously white now grey curtains were moth-eaten. Yet the smell of baking and the content humming of the cashier always lifted their spirits. 

 

Frisk bit into one of the muffins. Hm. Definitely unique. Understandable why they hadn't sold. They polished off the first muffin and started eating the second one slowly to savour it. The sun warmed their body, the ever present shadow of Mount Ebott a comforting reminder. They didn't really feel like sitting for a drawing session right now. Maybe they should go for a walk?

 

Finishing off the second muffin they waved at the cashier as they left. There was an old vending machine out front and they used some of their money to buy a bottle of water. Stomach full, bottle in hand, they headed to the forest surrounding the mountain. The bakery was off one of the streets that led straight into the forest, the distinction between civilisation and wilderness strangely obvious. Frisk picked their way through the underbrush, taking a path they had walked many times before.

 

The smell of forest was everywhere. Every step through the spongy litter and brush against branches and ferns let off another smell. Yellow flowers dotted the forest, growing on downed trees and in the small spotlights that shone through the canopy. In the distance a woodpecker searched for food, a squirrel chattered angrily, and birds flitted from tree to tree. The ground was almost solid moss, giant ferns exploding through the mass and engulfing the forest floor. Frisk stepped gingerly through the ferns, unable to tell where stumps and holes were through the feathery leaves. 

 

The trees became sparser, the ground turning to shale and rock. The sun beat down on their neck and they wiped sweat from their brow with a sweater sleeve. Their bottle was half gone now, they’d have to conserve if they wanted it to last down the mountain. They were almost climbing on hands and knees now. The rock faces and steep sides required hands. Shale slipped from beneath their sneakers and only a tight grip on a tree branch stopped them from sliding down the mountain.

 

Finally, they reached the outcrop. They huffed and sat, tilting their face to the breeze. The city spread out before them, the flash of light off cars and tiny specks moving around the streets. The roofs of houses were closer and they could almost see the workers puttering around, fixing last years snow damage. They felt powerful, up here on the mountain. All of the petty people down below, going about their lives, so small they could squish them. Frisk mimicked squashing some houses and giggled. 

 

The sun was past the highest point which meant those men should be long gone by now. Mother wouldn't be home until almost sunset. She always did overtime when Frisk was suspended. The got up, brushing pine needles and moss off their bum.

 

“*~”

 

They paused. What was  _ that _ ?

 

“*!”

 

Was that… a cry? From where? Frisk glanced around the mountain. They heard the soft voice again from the right and slowly, carefully began the trek towards it. As they grew closer they could almost hear words, or at least a distinct sound. They stopped at a cave. The sound was definitely coming from in there.

 

The opening gaped darkness, roots and yellow flower vines draped over the top like teeth. Frisk reached into their pocket and pulled out the switchblade. 

 

_ The feeling of the knife in your hands fills you with Determination. _

 

They entered the darkness. The floor was covered in stunted yellow flowers, their root system thick on the rock. Clearly, not much sunlight penetrated here.

 

“!!!!!”

 

There, the voice! Even closer now! Frisk stumbled forward, arm outstretched in the gloom. It was almost completely black, only faint outlines of the walls could be seen. Their sneakers stepped on solid rock now, no flower able to grow in this darkness.

 

“Help!”

 

The voice was right in front of them. They wished they could speak, even a small bit of reassurance. They took a step.

 

Onto air.

  
They fell.


	4. Neutral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO chapters?! Yeah, I just had to get this one done because the good stuff happens next *hee hee*
> 
> It's also crazy long but I won't force you through the Entire step by step process of the game. That would be boring. And this IS ultimately a Chara Tale so most of the focus is on stuff that is important to Chara.

They came to surprisingly without pain. It was colder than they remembered, the air stale and sweet. They coughed, grimacing at the sour taste in their mouth. Fortunately their blade hadn’t stabbed them in the fall. Unfortunately, their favourite switchblade was now a bent mess. They tossed it to the side in disgust and looked around.

 

The sun was faint, tiny motes of pollen drifting through it. High above them was a small pinprick and they wondered how large the hole they had fallen into was. The ground was absolutely coated in yellow flowers, their spongy roots had to be several inches thick. They only grew in a small patch, which was strange since the sun hadn't seemed to reach inside the cave that far. They could see, very faintly, tall columns and a massive hallway. 

 

This.

 

This seemed awfully familiar. It was different, the columns were pitted and worn, moss and flowers growing out of the cracks. The ground was coated in roots and flowers, and the faint smell of rot drifted through the still air.

 

No.

 

_ No. _

 

This was different. It had to be. They ignored the slight ache of their arms and legs and stood. Crushed petals clung to their clothes, smearing yellow all over their jeans. They tried to brush it off but merely managed to get yellow hands. Huffing, they stretched and hiked their pack up. They walked.

 

The ceiling had small holes all over where the sun penetrated. Some areas bright, others dim. The root system extended throughout the hallway, flowers blooming wherever the light touched. The sickly sweet smell of flowers and compost clung to their tongue and they resisted drinking from their bottle.

 

There was an odd flower on a patch of light ahead. It looked sort of like the Ebott flowers but was huge and grew alone.They cautiously sidled by.

 

“Howdy!”

 

They froze at the squeaky voice.

 

“I’m Flowey, Flowey the flower!”

 

The turned, disregarding their own fear, eyes wide. The flower seemed to falter then perked up.

 

“Boy, you sure look awfully confused! You must be new to the Underground!”

 

The Underground.

 

What a…  _ joke. _

 

It couldn't be-

 

It shouldn't-

 

This wasn't  _ real.  _ It was a lie. A cruel dream by their insane crazy mind. That’s why it was not quite right. That was why it was different but the same. Their brain was lying to them.

 

“Well I guess it’s up to little ol’ me to teach you how things work down here!”

 

There was a rushing, tingling feeling in their arms and legs, gathering into their chest. A bright red stylized heart appeared, floating and glowing in front of their chest.

 

Ha.

 

“See that there? That’s your SOUL. The culmination of your very being. Right now it’s pretty weak but you can get stronger by gaining LV.”

 

Ha ha.

 

“What’s LV? Why, it stands for LOVE, silly! And down here, LOVE is shared with small, white… Friendliness Pellets.”

 

Ha ha ha.

 

“Okay, I’m going to share some LOVE with you right now! Make sure you move around and gather them all!”

 

Ha ha ha hahahahahahahahahaha

 

They felt the attack rip through their SOUL but couldn't stop silently laughing. Air wheezed through their throat, shoulders shaking. They hunched over, gripping their ribs, and felt tears drip down their chin.

 

_ Oh god _

 

_ Oh god _

 

_ Hahahahahahahahahahaha _

 

The flower was confused but still victorious. He shouted something in his squeaky voice but they ignored him. They couldn't breathe, hiccuping through the snot and tears and laughter. The cavern felt small, too small, the walls crumbling before them and they were going to pass out. Wasn't that hilarious? 

 

There was a bright flash, blinding in the cavern’s gloom. The flower vanished, and they managed to look up. 

 

_ NOPE. _

 

Y

O

U

 

P

U

L

L

 

Pieces disintegrating, strands snapping from stress, leaking and oozing from crevices, you pull and sever and tear and rip.

 

The body trembles, from your new perspective you could see the weak, barely coloured heart of their SOUL flutter. There is a moment where you fear you’ve broken it irreparably, it  _ has  _ been quite a while since you’ve done this after all. Yet the body perseveres. 

 

It stands, face blank but cheeks still wet and red from crying. It stares up at… at the new monster and listens. An unfortunate side effect of such a weak SOUL, it barely reacts and takes the monsters hand dutifully.

 

Deep in the conscience you curl yourself into a ball. The body should be fine on its own, the small weak SOUL it has is decent enough for simple tasks. You avoid the senses, curling yourself around and around and around until all you sense is your own bright red Determination. It calms you.

 

What was happening? You don't feel asleep. You also don't feel dead. Maybe you are dying and this is some sort of nasty hallucination in your final throes of life? Yet no matter how many times you’ve died before, this has never happened. You just… go back to the last SAVE. There is no long, drawn out life story or whatever fever dream this is. 

 

You cautiously reach out to the body. Opening the channels, the rush of human magic flooding the limbs. You can vaguely sense the crinkle of dry leaves, the dusty smell of stale air, the comforting presence beside you-

 

_ Playfully crinkling through the leaves fills you with Determination. _

 

You pull back desperately, shuddering in the darkness. Well the SAVE points work at least. You're not feeling Determined enough to test their power so you let the body do it’s thing. 

 

It was… strange. You used to do this all the time, before. It wasn't yours… you don't think, so you tried to let the original SOUL grow and control. Unfortunately, your very presence seems to have stunted it. It barely reacts to outside stimuli, it has some vague hints of the original personality but it believes whatever you tell it. You felt… pity eventually. Pity for this poor SOUL who had to deal with your tainted one. So you kept it safe as best you could. And when you didn't… well, you had to discover SAVE’s somehow.

 

Now you feel even dirtier. This wasn't right, you didn't belong here. You were certain this had been your punishment, your karma, your penance. Yet here you were… again. And it was so different, not right. Was this a sick joke? Another burden on your karmic scale?

 

Well, you knew how to escape… you still remembered. Sometimes, early on… you would come to that entrance and leave flowers. You can't remember when you stopped doing that.

 

You metaphorically gird yourself and slowly sink back into the body. You don't take over, it’s best if you stay aloof from it. This will all be over and you’ll never have to think or look at it again. You can go back to your boring, normal life and continue on as if it never happened. 

 

The body is eating pie. You recognize it and seep into the taste and smell senses. Just as you remembered. You pull further before the tears can form and the body stands. It’s an odd room, the boxes and shelves are dusty. A very eclectic collection of toys and shoes are gathered here. It doesn't bode well. No one else wore shoes.and toys like these were rare in the Underground. Where did they come from? Why were they here?

 

The body exits the room and walks downstairs. She… the… Mom is sitting in a chair by the magical fire, reading glasses perched on her muzzle. You pull back even further, choking on your emotions. No. It’s not you and she’s not your Mom. Mom looks up from her book and-

 

And-

 

She talks.

 

About love and family and finding home and  _ giving _ a home and so much care and memories fills her voice you are overwhelmed. The body stands, staring blankly. 

 

You slide into the hands. You’ve done this so many times it’s almost second nature. Separate from everything but the feeling of fingers and arms.

 

_ How do I leave The Ruins? _

 

You see Mom is upset but you cannot, you cannot stay. You want to stay. Forever and ever and ever but you  _ can’t _ because you're a  _ murderer _ and you need to escape, to run, the laughter of children is following you here.

 

_ How do I leave The Ruins? _

 

Mom stands, stiff, and walks into the basement. You know what’s there. How many times have you run through these very crumbling halls and played hide and seek between the buildings? Plucked the flowers, laughed and crinkled through leaves, thrown your coat and made snowballs from the slush on your boots?

 

You make the body follow.

 

Mom is talking. Stopping and talking with such pain and despair and fierceness. It makes your heart ache. You want to run up and hug her and snuggle into that fur and breathe in the baking and never let go.

 

You stand at the exit to The Ruins. Mom turns, face anguished, and fire blossoms in her paws. You feel the tingle of magic on your limbs and 

 

P

U

S

H

 

Frisk stares at Toriel, the prickle of tears at the corner of their squinted eyes. Their SOUL beats before them, deep red and Determined. They cannot hurt Toriel, they refuse. The fire launches at them and they dodge. They cannot speak but they try to form the words

 

_ Love _

 

_ Family _

 

_ Mom _

 

with shaking hands. The fire grows erratic, Toriel is faltering and they push on. They don't notice tears running down their face or the ache in their legs. They are Determined to make this work, to leave and never come back. Finally, the monster sinks to her knees, tears of her own prickling the fur around her muzzle.

 

Frisk stumbles up to her and wraps their arms around the monster. They breathe in the scent of butterscotch and cinnamon, pastries and fire magic. They nuzzle into the soft white fur, small hands gripping the purple robes. Toriel hugs them back and tells them to promise not to come back.

 

They nod, mouthing,  _ of course, Mom _

 

Toriel smiles through the tears. “You know, you feel so familiar sometimes. It’s like I’ve known you for ages.”

 

Frisk freezes and

 

P

U

L

L

S

 

You breathe heavily, even though you don't need to. You clutch the bright red SOUL and fill yourself with Determination. The magic washes out the lingering emotions and you sigh in relief. In the corner of your mind you cling to that last hug, settling the memory deep into your consciousness. 

 

The body leaves. Somehow there is a bright patch of sunlight in the dark hallway, a familiar flower perched inside. The stupid thing babbles about nonsense before sinking into the dirt. You wonder where it came from as there certainly weren’t any flowers that could talk when you were here.

 

The Ruins doors creak open, the magic temporarily gone. The body steps into the snow and begins to walk. It tries to stop a few times, the lack of Determination could be a pain, but a quick nudge from you and it gets back to walking. You revel in the crisp,clean smell of the snow, the cold biting at your face and hands. You avoid thinking about snowballs and snow angels and laughter.

 

There is a presence behind you. In this form you can sense other SOUL’s sort of, a side effect of being wrapped around your own so much. You stop the body and wait. Sure enough, the feeling gets closer. Some sort of intimidation technique, you think.

 

“H e y h u m a n, d o n ‘t y o u k n o w h o w t o g r e e t a n e w f r i e n d? T u r n a r o u n d a n d s h a k e m y h a n d.”

 

How sad. You force the body around and sink into the hands. The figure is shadowed, clearly planned for best effect. You reach out and grasp the hand.

 

Pppppfffffffbbbbbttttttttttt

 

“Heh heh, ol’ whoopee cushion in the hand trick. Never gets old.”

 

You can't help but crack a laugh. The figure steps closer and it’s a skeleton. You’ve seen a few around the Capitol but never around Snowdin. It’s odd, and the strangeness gives you an uneasy feeling. You pull away from the body, figuring it can deal with this on its own.

 

The skeleton gives it a strange look. Probably from the sudden lack of emotion. The body isn't very good at emoting. Or acting all that human, really. He recovers pretty quickly and gives his name and job.

 

You feel fear when he mentions human hunting. That… wasn't around before. How long have you been… been… dead… sort of? Was it new? Did Dad implement it? How many humans had there been, after you?

 

You want to ask but you have to stay out of it. This odd, not-Underground would soon be in your past and you would never have to think about-

 

_ Buttercups and butterscotch and furry paws and soft ears _

 

Ever again. You keep away from the body, letting the small SOUL do it’s thing. Of course, it follows orders flawlessly and you snort at the two skeleton's conversation. The body follows and fortunately doesn't have to think much to do the puzzles. You push a few times when it gets stuck but otherwise let it flutter happily. The happiness is faint, the SOUL not strong enough to produce full emotions, but you enjoy every small step it manages to make.

 

The skeleton brothers are fun. You surprise yourself by paying more attention to them then you thought you would. They don't remind you of anything, you're sure you've never seen them before today, and it makes you feel… happy.

 

You  _ missed _ monsters. The SOUL’s that glowed with compassion and kindness. You missed their lack of hate. Their acceptance and love. For a brief moment you entertain staying in Snowdin. Meeting more monsters that were unfamiliar, carving out a small life in the snow covered village.

 

But… you don't deserve it. You need to leave, you are too stained for monster compassion. You have to leave them behind and let them live without your…  _ humanness _ stinking up the place.

 

You briefly slide into the body and send Determination through it.

 

_ The sight of such a friendly town fills you with Determination. _

 

The SAVE point made, you slide back into the blackness. Best to not get too close, too attached. You settle and rest, unable to truly sleep in this place. The best you can do is a sensation akin to meditation, so you sink into the silence and wrap yourself in your SOUL.

 

You rest.

 

Occasionally you feel the sensation of FIGHTs, the vague feeling of attacks sliding through the small SOUL, crunching of snow and chill of wind. The SOUL occasionally tingles with happiness and fear. Sometimes the jerk of a death almost pulls you from the comfortable space you’ve made but the instant return wraps you in silence once more.

 

There’s a change of temperature, the SOUL twinges in fear. You shift through flashes of light and death. The SOUL asks for Determination and you absently flick some it’s way.

 

Silence.

 

Blessed silence.

 

You wake. The time has been long, you can feel it in the body’s bones. You feel the vague impressions become slightly more detailed, the small SOUL leaking into yours. You remember dating Papyrus, talking to Sans, the fear as Undyne killed you over and over and over. The relief at making a SAVE (you feel proud of the tiny SOUL for managing that, it’s doesn't happen often), the heat of Hotland and learning of Alphys plan. There is forgiveness and betrayal at that, mixed with the rush of fighting Mettaton. You feel as if you know them all, have fought them and FLIRTed and laughed and punned.

 

You shake off the feelings. The SOUL feels sticky from the last fight, a monster named Muffet. You don't remember seeing them the first time, either. The cold of Snowdin, the echo flowers of Waterfall, and the heat of Hotland is enough remembering for you. The-

 

_ Laughter and echoes of words following you through the cavern _

 

_ The heat and cool metal, brushing past others as you hid and waited, giggling _

 

_ The bustle of paws and claws and scales on cobblestones, the smell of fresh baking _

 

Memories were difficult enough. You-

 

P

U

S

H

E

D

 

And Frisk stared at the door.

 

_ Behind this door must be the elevator to the King's castle. You're filled with Determination. _

 

It was… almost over. They could leave. Just don't think about what that entailed. They needed to go away, to let the monsters live without them. They stepped through the doors and went up the elevator.

 

They ignored

 

_ Smell of baking in the kitchen _

 

_ The large figure reading _

 

_ A small family settled around the table _

 

_ Pitter patter of paws and sneakers _

 

And focused on their goal. On the end. And  _ only Asgore _ would have to-

 

_ Rumbling laugh and soft hair _

 

_ Swinging from long horns _

 

_ Sitting high above the ground, nestled against a soft ear _

 

They

 

They

 

Couldn't give up now.

 

There were monsters and they slid into a defensive stance. Yet they didn't attack. They began to tell

 

_ A   _ **_S T O R Y_ **

 

The words, the words, they knew this story. And they hear the

 

_ Cries of two parents as they watch their children die _

 

_ The sound of crumbling to dust _

 

Frisk sobbed, clutched their ears, and ran. The words were muffled but they could still

 

Could still

 

_ “I-I don’t want to do this anymore, Chara.” _

 

_ “I won't fight! They are just people and I can’t-” _

 

_ “Hey, Chara?” _

 

_ “I love you.” _

 

Tears blurred the hallway into muddied smudges. They could run this in their sleep and didn't stumble, the echoes of words in their head and outside followed them, wrapping around their SOUL and squeezing. It was just a little more, just a bit farther and they could forget this!

 

They entered the throne room.

 

It was the same but different. The spongy floor was covered in golden flowers, a throne sat in the corner, a dusty sheet over it. He was watering the flowers. Of course he was watering the flowers. He was talking but the words just washed through them. The sound of that deep voice was relaxing. It had always meant safety and Dad and love and-

 

He turned and his face-

 

His face wasn’t Dad’s. He was gentle and soft and still had the same long beard, soft eyes, and long ears. There was no recognition on it, no smile just for the children, no happiness. This wasn't Dad. This hadn't been Dad in a long time. And they needed to

 

K I L L  H I M

 

Their SOUL flared and they settled into the fight. He wouldn't take their MERCY, so they attacked. Somewhere along the way they had picked up a small stick and they hit and hit and hit. It wasn't the mock battles Asriel and they used to get into. Not even the training that Asgore used to teach them both. This was brutal and efficient. He swung and stabbed with the trident, they winced as it nicked the corner of their SOUL. Fire flashed towards them in patterns and they ducked and dodged, wincing at the heat that stung their SOUL. Their stick had intent and they cracked it against his face, his hands, his stupid armour and smiling Dad face and Asriel and Toriel and falling down here again-

 

They sobbed, Asgore falling to his knees. Through their tears they could see their Dad who picked them up when they asked, who read them bedtime stories and did the funny voices, who wore their flower crowns with pride and their lumpy, badly knit sweaters.

 

He spoke as they cried. “I remember the day after my son died. The entire underground was devoid of hope. The future had once again been taken from us by the humans. In a fit of anger, I declared war. I said that I would destroy any human that came here. I would use their souls to become godlike...... and free us from this terrible prison. Then, I would destroy humanity… And let monsters rule the surface, in peace. Soon, the people's hopes returned. My wife, however, became disgusted with my actions. She left this place, never to be seen again. Truthfully... I do not want power. I do not want to hurt anyone. I just wanted everyone to have hope… I cannot take this any longer. I just want to see my wife. I just want to see my child. Please... Young one… This war has gone on long enough. You have the power...Take my soul, and leave this cursed place.”

 

He was their Dad and all of  _ this.  _ This pain and anguish, Mom and Asriel, had been their fault. And they couldn't… they couldn't…

 

Frisk threw the stick away and cried.  _ I’m sorry I’m sorry  _ they signed, again and again and again.

 

Asgore brightened, “After everything I have done to hurt you… You would rather stay down here and suffer… Than live happily on the surface? Human... I promise you... For as long as you remain here... My wife and I will take care of you as best we can. We can sit in the living room, telling stories... Eating butterscotch pie... We could be like... Like a family…”

 

Frisk nodded through their tears. Yes! They could start over, couldn't they? There may be no Asriel and maybe Mom was gone but surely they could fix it. They could fix everything. And Dad would pick them up and call them buttercup and teddy bear and Mom would cook so many pies and they would live wherever! They just wanted-

 

His SOUL shattered. Frisk stared as Asgore fell to dust before them. 

 

They

 

They hadn't

 

The flower appeared, a twisted grin on its face. The  _ stupid _ plant had killed, had ruined what hope they had for a new family for their old family it had killed their  _ Dad. _

 

“Howdy! It's me, Flowey. Flowey the flower! I owe you a  _ huge _ thanks. You really did a number on that old fool. Without you, I  _ never _ could have gotten past him. But now, with  _ your _ help... He's  _ dead _ .” 

 

How  _ d a r e  h e. _

 

_ “ _ And  _ I’ve _ got the human SOULS! Boy! I've been empty for so long... It feels great to have a SOUL inside me again. Mmmm, I can feel them wriggling... Awww, you're feeling left out, aren't you? Well, that's just perfect. After all, I only have six souls. I still need one more... Before I become  _ God _ . And then, with my newfound powers... Monsters. Humans. Everyone. I'll show them all the  _ real  _ meaning of this world.”

 

Frisk glanced over to where their stick had fallen. They lunged.

 

The world went white.

 

Their hand closed on the textured bark as the world swallowed, the floor vanishing, the walls dissolving into darkness. They flailed in the void, clutching their stick. There was no feeling, no sight, no smell. The nothing seemed to leak into their eyes, sinking into their SOUL.

 

Something snapped.

 

They gagged and grasped at their SOUL, fingers passing through the bright red glow. What was  _ that? _ It felt as if… as if they were less attached. Like they could just dissolve into the void and vanish. It was something they had never felt before, and it frightened them.

 

Something appeared in the void and their eyes snapped to it desperately. They scowled. It was T H A T  F L O W E R.

 

“Oh, and forget about escaping to your old SAVE. It's gone  _ forever _ .”

 

_ Shut up  _ they signed with their free hand.  _ You are  _ nothing _ just a petty, stupid little flower. In fact, you are more like a human than me. All your idiotic little plans and hatreds, all make  _ you _ the disgusting one. You’ll never be a God. You’ll just be a stupid flower. And I  _ step _ on flowers. _

 

Flowey twitched, then spread his mouth in a grimace. “In this world it’s KILL or BE KILLED and you’re about to be the latter!”

 

_ Oh, such an original line.  _ They rolled their eyes.

 

He bulged, vines exploding out of his grotesquely ballooned body. Two thorned vines swelled,  _ things  _ crawling upwards. His face grew, sap splattering into the void and vanishing. The strange screen flickered on and the flowers laugh echoed through the void.

 

Frisk swallowed, the stick feeling small in their hands. The monstrosity towered over their SOUL, but they had to be Determined.

 

The fight began.

 

They dodged and ducked, trying to figure out moving without reference. The massive vines shot through their SOUL and they cried out soundlessly. Gagging when they retreated. It was disorienting without a floor, or walls, or anything. They couldn't even smell anything and that was the strangest thing to them.

 

They jerked as a star hit their SOUL. They died. And-

 

They blinked. That had felt… wrong. Like something slimy had touched their SOUL. 

 

Flowey cackled. “But don't worry. Your old friend Flowey... Has worked out a replacement for you! I'll SAVE over your own death. So you can watch me tear you to bloody pieces... Over, and over, and over…” Frisk swore at him in sign then ran their finger across their neck. “...what? Do you really think you can stop  _ me _ ? Hee hee hee... You really  _ are _ an idiot.”

 

Frisk grimaced as more attacks flew their way. They didn't want to feel that gross uncomfortable slime on their SOUL again. The SAVE hadn't felt right, had left a stain. They could almost  _ see _ the marks the creature had done to it. They choked as an explosion tore through their SOUL. They died and-

 

Jerked back from the strange bullets, trying to reorient themselves after their death.

 

“Hee hee hee… did you  _ really _ think you could defeat  _ me _ ?! I am the  _ God _ of this world. And  _ you _ ? You're  _ hopeless _ . Hopeless and alone... Golly, that's right! Your  _ worthless _ friends... can't save you now. Call for help. I dare you. Cry into the darkness! "Mommy! Daddy!" "Somebody help!" See what good it does you!”

 

Frisk closes their eyes. They can't give up. If nothing else they have to fight for Asgore. They have to fight for all the friends they made, even the ones that they can barely remember. They have to fight, to escape and leave and never, ever come back. Their SOUL pulses in the void.

 

“But nobody came. Boy! What a shame! Nobody else... Is gonna get to see you DIE!!!”

 

Frisk barely dodges the cross shaped bullets and runs into a beam. They wince as their SOUL shudders. 

 

Something pulses back.

 

They turn, trying to find the source. That had felt like  _ human _ magic. Slide away from the weird finger bullets. It wasn't familiar magic, plus almost no one on the Surface could do it anymore. They wince as some vines strike through them they die and-

 

Something  _ pulses _

 

It  _ is  _ human magic. Frisk narrowly misses getting fried again in their distraction. They’re the only human here and it definitely wasn't their own magic. However…

 

They slide around more bullets and stare at the viney amalgamate of plant and human parts. He had SOULs. He had  _ six human SOULs. _ They are well aware of a human's persistence after death, perhaps… maybe… they are clipped by a beam and wince.

 

Alright. They are filled with Determination.

 

Frisk reaches inside to their own SOUL. It glitters, pulsing faintly. There is a shadow behind it, an afterimage, barely coloured. They focus on the feeling of protecting the small SOUL. It is difficult without being separate, their magic insists that they are both the same, that there is no difference. They persevere, feeling several bullets collide with their SOUL. They don't have much time. The magic rises, filling them with Determination.

 

Their SOUL glows.

 

And something glows back.

 

They open their eyes, grinning. The flower stops mid rant and starts panicking. Screaming at them “what did you do?!” They don't answer, the bright cheery smile that spreads across their face is too much. They let their eyes view the void without fear, the red irises almost glowing they are so full of sheer Determination.

 

Six glowing hearts appear around Flowey, each one pulsing with the beat of Frisk’s own SOUL. They can feel a slimy, noxious paw reach for the SAVE… And fail. Oh, victory has never been so glorious. The look on his disgusting face is too good. They make a big show of approaching, stick held high. The fear, oh glory the fear. 

 

They hit and hit and hit, smiling as sap splatters their face, as he screams and pleads and  _ begs. _

 

_ Finally  _ the flower cannot hold the SOULs any longer. He shrinks back into his small yellow self. Frisk halts the assault, watching the  _ thing  _ that killed their Dad. Ruined what chances they had to restart and make amends and maybe be someone new.

 

The flower cowers as you crouch in front of it. You give him your best smile, your nicest smile and reach out to pat his head.

 

He cringes and sidles to the side. “Wh-what are you  _ doing? _ Giving me MERCY? After all I’ve done?”

 

Frisk simply smiles. And grabs his stem in their fist.

 

Flowey grins even as chlorophyll leaks over their fingers. “You're... toying with my... emotions! I knew... you... had it in... you!” He wheezes, his face bulging, as you slowly and methodically squeeze his stem apart. Eventually their is only mush left, the center a blank white slate. Frisk makes sure and pulls the two halves apart, twisting them as the stringy stem refuses to give up easily. They drop the pieces on the floor and stomp on them for good measure. Once Flowey is only a yellow and green stain on the stone they stand up.

 

At some point the void had retreated. They were back in the throne room, Dad’s dust and clothes in front of them. They step around the pile and approach the barrier. The hum of magic prickles over their skin, hair standing on end. In the strange black and white of the barrier there is a small rainbow of colour smudge and they approach it. 

 

Human magic, the colour of each SOUL that had helped them against Flowey. A small hole in the barrier, waiting for the last one. Frisk places their hands on the smudge and the

 

W O R L D

 

B **rE** _ Aks _ Ref **O** rm _ S _

 

They stumble, the cold mountain air a shock from the warmer throne room. They glance back at the barrier and note the smudge slowly vanishing. There would be no other escapes after theirs, the SOULs having used the last of their perseverance before true death.

 

They don't know how long it’s been but the sky is lightening in the distance. They need to walk back to civilisation. If they remembered correctly the barrier exit was on the uninhabited side of Mount Ebott. Which means they have a long trek ahead of them. They sigh and step forward onto the path-

 

They wake to the smell of pollen and stale air, the faint sunlight glinting off tall columns.

  
They scream.


	5. Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah, it's not a continuation of the last chapter. But another really long one is coming so just be patient. This is my one story that doesn't update weekly because the chapters are so long :p

_ You are small and it feels wrong. Like your limbs should be taller, your head above the counter instead of under it. Sometimes indecision will freeze you and you don't understand  _ why. _ Why does the sight of buttercups fill you with fear and the remembered pain of acid on your tongue? Why do the white goats at the petting zoo make you break into tears? Why why WHY  _ **WHY** ?!

 

_ You are small and you are clumsy. You overreach, you overstep and the other children laugh at you. You don't blame them, there is so much of you to mock. It doesn't make you any less angry, though. You hide your hate and give the world an empty expression. It’s easier. Your eyes are hidden behind a squint and long brown bangs and you feel fear when you open them wide. So you don't.  _

 

_ The red of them makes you feel queasy. _

 

_ You are small and you don't remember how old you are. Sometimes it feels like forever and other times you feel so, so, young. The sky is bright with fall sunlight and you want to bask in it’s rays forever. You haven't seen the sun is so long. You saw the sun this morning. _

 

_ Your regular tormentors find you, as if you had tried to hide. They surround your prone form on the field and taunt you. You don't react, keep your face blank, don't give them the satisfaction. One kicks you in the side and pain makes you curl up. They laugh and laugh and l a u g h. _

 

_ You are smiling. They aren't laughing anymore.  _

 

_ The children go to the supervisor in their bright vest. They stammer and stutter and scream and cry. You laugh.  It is soundless but you don't care. Because this is hilarious. Isnt it? When the adult comes up to you, the children huddled behind the larger body as if it gives them protection, you cry. You sob and stutter and scream and pull up your shirt to the bruise on your side. _

 

_ The other children get in trouble. Two are suspended.  _

 

_ They try to get revenge. You knew they would. The ringleader has not been eradicated. You were  _ counting  _ on it. _

 

_ Two days later and you are laughing and laughing and laughing and tears are running down your face but you just c a n t s t o p. _

 

_ You are suspended. _

 

_ Two children are in the hospital. _

 

_ It’s hilarious. _

 

_ There is a strange feeling when you look in the mirror. It’s you but not you. You can’t remember why it’s not you. You have a name but it’s not your name. Sometimes you forget to respond and they worry you are deaf as well as mute.  _

 

_ You clumsily toddle at a young age. You read above your level. You write in sloppy, uncoordinated letters but you can do whole entire sentences. They call you a prodigy. They bump you up in grades. Faces of adults and children blur into an incomprehensible mess. You feel as if you’ve done this all before. _

 

_ Not-Mom works late and comes home to wine and Not-Dad. They are lost in each other and you don't mind. You eat the meals placed before you. It feels wrong. Because Mom should be- _

 

_ Should be- _

 

_ You hole up in your room often. You don't want to see Not-Mom or Not-Dad. You don't want to watch the other children play games or ride bikes. You don't really want to exist. _

 

_ You get urges that confuse you a lot. To flirt and smile and  _ like  _ people. They are confusing, like someone else is in your head. You don't understand. You didn't  _ want  _ this. _

 

_ It happens when you are still small. When you stumble around on legs that feel too small and reach for things beyond your grasp. After you have undergone many tests at the hospital, when your arms are sore from needle marks and your head hurts from the smell. _

 

_ Not-Dad comes into your room, a slurring drunken mess. He pats you on the head, he mumbles things that you shouldn't understand but you  _ do. _ You are scared. So scared. He reaches once more, his hands so big and _

 

_ YOU BITE _

 

_ Blood runs down his fingers, he bellows and pulls away. You feel the flesh tear beneath your small teeth, the metallic taste of blood on your tongue. You smile. _

 

_ Not-Dad and Not-Mom discuss and mutter and stare. You can feel the eyes on the back of your neck but you don't worry about that. You need a plan. Because you  _ know _. Not-Dad is wrong and bad and he needs to l e a v e. _

 

_ So you save your boiling anger, tamp it down, lock it up. And you begin. _

 

_ Flinching from touch.  _

 

_ Stop interacting at all. _

 

_ And you need the marks so you make some. _

 

_ The teachers grow worried and the counsellor calls you in and they ask and you hide but finally you- _

 

_ sign and sign and inside you laugh and laugh. _

 

_ Not-Dad is gone in a flurry of sirens and lights. Not-Mom cries and drinks and blames you. The courtroom is bright and they ask questions you answer with trembling hands and tear streaked cheeks. _

 

_ It’s hilarious. _

 

_ A prodigy they call you. _

 

_ You forget to look both ways before you cross the street. _

 

_ And for a brief moment, a flash of a second you are  _ Y O U _ and they are  _ T H E M  _ and you know- _

 

_ You are standing in the abandoned park, up to your knees in yellow flowers. There is the faint sound of a lawnmower in the distance and the smell of pollen and freshly cut grass permeates the air. _

 

_ It had been winter. _

 

_ It HAD been winter. _

 

_ You sit and dig your nails into the dirt and grass. If  you remember then the- _

 

_ An ice cream truck comes around the corner, the bright cheery tune cutting through the sounds of summer. It stops and children run up to it. The first one buys a blue popsicle, the second a fudgesicle… _

 

_ You  _ remember _ this. You shouldn't. You’ve  _ lived  _ this. You are not you. You are someone else. This is not your body, not your life, and you didn't  _ want  _ this. _

 

_ You pull and tear and rip and you can see your SOUL, it’s so bright and red. You reach out your consciousness and grasp- _

 

You remember.

 

_ You are  _ Y O U.  _ The small, fluttering slightly pinkish SOUL before you is T H E M. You reach out to touch it and it flutters, a faint happy feeling running through you. You can see your magic, the human magic that… Dad and Mom had shown you how to find.  _

 

_ “Humans can’t use it like monsters, Chara. But there is no harm in knowing how to sense it or find it.” _

 

_ It looks different. Too bright. Too…  _ there. _ The colours that flit through the aura are brighter than they should be, deeper. You don't remember this. It frightens you. _

 

_ You stare at the small SOUL, trying to find it’s magic. Small, diluted flares emanate from the SOUL. The colours are washed and thin, the SOUL feeling fragile. A flare filled with kindness touches your own SOUL and you shudder. _

 

_ Did… did you do this? _

 

_ The last thing you remember…  _

 

_ T _ he  **wO** _ rL _ d Co _ ll _ **_aPs_ ** **ING** DaRK an **d D** **_Ark_ ** **e** R aND _ Dark _ **_e_ ** **R**

 

_ And somehow  _ this.  _ It wasn't YOU. It was something else. Not yours. And by being here, by existing, you had ruined it. You curl yourself into your own SOUL, your own magic. You didn't mean this. You didn't want this.  _

 

_ You feel inquiry and a touch of kindness once more. The small SOUL is trying to comfort you. You who doesn't deserve it. Who ruined them. Who took over their body for who knows how long and probably stunted them beyond saving. You laugh in the consciousness.  _

 

_ It’s hilarious. _

 

_ The sun is down when you come out of the meditation. The body is laying against a tree, slumped, ants are crawling on it’s skin. You try to push the SOUL into it but it refuses, fear flashing back at you like lightning. Resigned, you slide into it, feeling wrong and defiled. _

 

_ You would figure this out. And look both ways before crossing a street. You try to remember what would cause a… timeskip like this. Why this point? Why this day? It’s been so long, an entire two seasons… _

 

_ Well, it would require some testing. Hopefully less painful than being hit by a car……. _

 

_ You're a  _ fucking  _ time traveller.  _

 

_ Holee sheit _

 

_ Of all the things _

 

_ Of all the scenarios _

 

_ You couldn't have managed this. Even in your wildest fever dreams, slumped on your bed with the smell of blood and shit. This was… this was crazy. Humans didn't  _ have  _ this kind of power. Did they? Well, you hadn't before. You're sure you would remember something like  _ that.

 

_ The main culprit is the magic that fills you with Determination. Something that Mom and Dad had told you only humans possessed in large amounts. There’s a lot of it now. If you concentrate you can almost feel the tether of magic anchoring you. The small SOUL tends to pulse when you use Determination. It doesn't seem to be harmed by it but almost like… it’s responding somehow. It can't use it unless you give it, however. In fact, the stunted SOUL is barely human. You tried to give it back the body, let it grow unencumbered by your own disgusting SOUL.  _

 

_ But it’s too broken. _

 

_ You're not sure if this is hilarious or not. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow real time updates and hiatuses or ask me questions at my tumblr:
> 
> http://barkingpup49.tumblr.com/


	6. It's Still You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have discovered I STILL can't spell guard. 
> 
> But here, have more angst.

They scream and scream and scream and dig their nails into the dirt and the flowers. They rip the yellow things from the ground, tossing them everywhere, sobbing and crying and dig their dirty nails into their own arms. They drag the broken ends down their skin and shiver and place their forehead against the broken dirt. 

 

The Ruins are silent. 

 

They heave and shudder. They don't understand. What happened? It wasn't a SAVE. But it was like a SAVE? If they had died they should have gone back to the last SAVE which had been… before Asgore, before Dad. So why? WHY?

 

They had to-

 

They had to get up.

 

They sit up, head swimming. They are surrounded by broken stems and crushed petals. They don’t feel particularly sad about it. They stand, covered in dirt and pollen, and trudge forward. It looks exactly the same. The sun shines in exactly the same spots. The flower is gone.

 

The flower is gone!

 

Maybe it’s different? Is this after? Then why… 

 

They rush ahead, hoping. They skid to a stop as a tall white monster comes into view. Their breath heaves out of them, they feel like the mountain is crushing them. They step forward.

 

“Oh dear! What’s a young child like you doing here? Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

 

She… she doesn't remember. They sink to their knees and wipe their face, smearing dirt all over their cheeks. Why are they crying? Of course she wouldn't remember. Why would she? This is all some messed up karmic punishment. 

 

Mom is flitting around them, fussing over the dirt and the long bleeding scratches on their arms. They allow her to heal and pick them up. The feel of her fur, the smell of baking, is familiar and comforting. They relax, tired from their tantrum. Maybe… maybe this was a second chance?

 

Yeah, they didn't have Dad or Asriel but they could have Mum, right? They could still be happy, they could have a family.

 

Right?

 

They woke much later, tucked into the bed in the odd room. They untangled the sheets and stepped onto the floor. A slice of butterscotch cinnamon pie lay on the floor. They felt tears prick their eyes and wiped them away. No, this was stupid. They didn't even know if they were upset about the pie right now or the pie from memory. They couldn't cry about this. They were done crying.

 

They picked up the slice and moved it out of the way. They hadn't gotten a good look at the room before. There was a picture on the wall and they angrily tore it down, crumpling it up. A dusty picture that they wiped off and smiled at. And the odd boxes of toys and shoes. There had been six souls. Six children, or people, before them and after them. They remembered the hum of their SOULs, the flash of their magic. Why hadn't Asgore left with one and collected the other six? They frowned at the boxes. Had Toriel dealt with all the children? Had they all left and… died?

 

Could they really live here? Maybe if they went through everything again they could escape. They didn't have to deal with any of it, they could just go and go and go-

 

If they came back… they didn't think they could stand it. Frisk nodded at the box of shoes. They would try to live here in The Ruins. With Mom. 

 

New purpose in mind they exit the room and walk down the hallway. Peering down the stairs they see the faint, flickering light of the fireplace and they can hear the soft squeak of the rocking chair. They pad down the stairs and feel Mom’s magic wash over them like… like… coming home and the smell of safety and soft fur. 

 

Toriel glanced up when they entered the living room, her reading glasses perched on her muzzle and a smile on her face. 

 

“Oh, hello, my child. Did you have a good sleep?”

 

Frisk nods and signs  _ what are you reading? _

 

“Oh, this?” She holds up the book. It’s upside down. “It’s uh,” she glances at the cover. “72 Snail Facts. Yes. Would you like me to read to you?”

 

They nod and sit on the floor beside the magical fireplace. They bask in the feeling of Mom’s magic, letting the familiar tingle lull them. 

 

“How wonderful!” Toriel glances down and coughs. “Uh, eh,” she flips the book upright. “Alright, fact 40 snails make terrible neighbours. Oh my, I never knew.”

 

Frisk smiles. A genuine smile. They wonder if they remember how to do it properly. Does it look to creepy? Toriel doesn't seem to mind. Mom also likes insects, though. They let themselves relax in the feeling of magic. The safety and love and snail facts. They are not tired but they slip into a meditative state, the soft flutter of the small SOUL wrapped in their own magic is comforting.

 

“Oh my! I still have to start dinner! Would you like to help?”

 

They jerk from their mediation and blink.  _ Yes. _ Their fingers feel clumsy and they rub the heel of their hands against their eyes. Ugh.

 

Toriel stands, her dress swooshing around her. “Come along then, my child, I believe tonight is casserole night.”

 

They take her paw, their own small hands lost in the massive clawed ones. Toriel places the book on the counter and begins to pull out ingredients and dishes, humming to herself. Frisk watches through slitted eyes and can’t help-

 

_ Humming and laughter. A deep bass voice and huge paws wrapping around a waist. Nuzzling and blushes, twin expressions of disgust from across the table. _

 

_ “ _ Alright, dear. Could you start a pot of boiling water for the noodles?”

 

Frisk nods and grabs the massive cast iron pot. It’s shiny and smooth, obviously well loved. They pump the tap, listening for the gurgle and place the pot underneath. Cold water rushes out and they continue pumping, arms aching but feeling satisfied. Unfortunately, they cannot carry the pot and Frisk tugs on Toriel’s dress.

 

Mom turns from cutting the black onions. “Oh my, it must be quite heavy for you. Thank you, young one.” She effortlessly lifts the pot from the sink and places it on the stove.  Her paws spark and a fire wooshes into being beneath it. Her fingers twitch as she settles it, then smiles as she hands some odd blue mushrooms to Frisk. “Do you know how to cut these, my dear?”

 

Frisk nods and takes them, bringing their armful to the counter. They eye the knives and pick one that is medium sized, not too big but also not too small. They begin to slice, determined to do it properly. They have cooked at home before but their knife skills are a tad lacking since their Not-Mom usually bought simple things. They finish and are proud of the slightly butchered mushrooms. They once again pull on Mom’s dress, smearing blue all over it.

 

Mom turns from placing the bright yellow noodles into the pot. “Yes, dear? Oh, you did a wonderful job! Just place them directly into the frying pan, the onions are suitably soft.”

 

They nod and scrape the mushrooms into the sizzling frying pan. Their hands are covered in blue gunk and they frown. They don't want to go all the way to the bathroom and they would make a mess pumping the kitchen tap. They spot a dish towel. Quickly, when Toriel’s not looking, they wipe their hands on it. They’ve left it a tad too long so their skin is dyed blue but the gunk is off. Now to hide the dish towel.

 

“Excellent. I believe the sauce is almost finished. Why don’t you oil the dish, child?”

 

Frisk jumps, pulling the dish towel behind them. They nod at Toriel and sidle backwards towards the counter. Fortunately, Mom is too busy tending to the sauce and frying pan to notice. They stuff the towel into a cupboard. Done.

 

They pull the bottle of oil from the same cupboard and pour a bit into the casserole dish. The oil is pushed back into the cupboard, sliding the towel further into the depths. Toriel places the frying pan’s contents into the drained noodles, stirring vigorously. The concoction is poured into the casserole dish and the sauce over that. She covers it and places it into the oven. A spark of magic and fire blooms inside, restrained by the small metal box it was summoned in.

 

“Well, that’s done. Would you like some hot chocolate while we wait?”

 

Frisk nods and Toriel busies herself with starting the water. Tea for her and hot cocoa for Frisk. Frisk takes a chair at the table and watches Toriel. It is different yet the same. Mom’s movements, the bustle of paws on stone, the delicate way she handles the cups. And yet… it is different. Not in the situation but there is something off about her. They recall the last speech she made to them and you wonder…

 

_ Does she miss me? _

 

There had been six humans after you. Did they all fall in the same place? Did your Mom find them, care for them, and let them go? When  _ had  _ she left Dad? The death of two children… had she run then? Or was it after? Not even Asgore’s speech gave many hints. There were shoes and toys and items that wasn't anyone's. Did Mom even remember them after so many humans? How many did she tuck into bed at night and sing lullabies to and pet their hair and-

 

No.

 

They had to  _ be  _ calm. The memories were just that. They had a second chance. To make better ones. To live with Mom and have a Mom and  _ she  _ would tuck them in at night and sing them lullabies

 

“Here you are, my child.”

 

_ Frisk. _

 

“Hm?” Toriel put down her tea and stared at their hands. “Sign that again, my dear.”

 

_ My name is F-R-I-S-K _

 

Mom smiled, her eyes crinkling. “Thank you, Frisk. And what’s the sign for your name?”

 

They smiled. And signed  _ Frisk _ and Toriel copied, her hands large but elegant. They lifted their cocoa and took a sip, feeling content and happy. This was going to be okay.

 

The next morning Toriel began their lessons. She was limited to what she remembered from so long ago and the material that was occasionally found at the dump. Fortunately, they lived in place of high magic concentrations and Toriel definitely knew about the things in The Ruins. She led them through the puzzles and into Home. 

 

The abandoned city was dark so she kept a ball of fire in her palm to light the way. The buildings had long been absorbed into the flora and fauna of The Ruins. Crude stone houses crumbled around moss and vines, archways turned into curtains of creepers. The cobblestones had grass and flowers growing everywhere the faint sun touched, many of the roads heaved from root systems down below. Things skittered in the darkness, the flash of eyes from corners and windows a reminder they weren't entirely alone. 

 

Frisk kept a good grip on Toriel's free paw. You had always hated Home, the place eerie after it had been basically abandoned. Asriel had loved it, wanting to explore every falling house and stagnant well.

 

“Here we are!” The fire snuffed out.

 

They had entered a large courtyard with a mossy well in the middle. There must have been a crack or hole in the ceiling somewhere because slightly bright sunlight illuminated the area. The stones had almost been completely engulfed by moss, grass and flowers. A black tree covered in bright red leaves grew by one of the abandoned houses. A small squirrel thing sat on a branch, staring at them.

 

“This is my favourite bug hunting spot! Grab your gear, Frisk, and when you catch something show it to me and I’ll tell you what it is, okay?”

 

They nodded and picked up the jars and net Toriel had given them. They went to the tree first, watching the vaguely squirrel looking creature run down the black bark and vanish into the gloom. They hefted a broken cobblestone and several insects scurried from the light. They glanced at Toriel. Her back was to them. Heedless of their safety they plucked the insects with their bare hands and placed them into the jars.

 

They already knew what some of them were, Mom’s passion for bug hunting was nothing new, but they felt a sliver of excitement as they stared at their catches. They picked up the jars and carefully walked over to Mom, tugging on her grey dress.

 

“Oh? Oh! Good job, Frisk! Let’s see what you’ve found.”

 

Frisk let her take the jars and listened intently as she described each insect and what they did. Some of them she had small tidbits of interesting facts and no matter how many times they heard it, they could never tire of it. There were some insects from the surface but others had been warped by the magic permeating behind the barrier.

 

One that changed colours according to temperature. One that would spin a cocoon and emerge as a grey moth. Another that ate other insects and had a hard exoskeleton. One that glimmered whenever the sun touched it, like it had been dipped in oil. A worm that hummed when it was calling for a mate. 

 

When Toriel was done she handed the jars back and told Frisk to carefully put them back. They did so, making sure Mom wasn't looking as they grasped each insect with their hands and placed them under the cobblestones. They pulled out the paring knife they had taken from the kitchen and peeled a piece of bark from the tree. The bark was powdery and soft, coming apart easily in their hands. Beneath it were lines and lines of tiny red beetles which they scooped into a jar. They couldn't reach the leaves, unfortunately. So they ignored the temptation of the tiny caterpillars they could see, the memory of-

 

_ Ooh, what’s this one, Mom? They’re so pretty!  _

 

Them from before would have to suffice. There  _ was _ some moss growing on a root that had erupted from the ground. They peeled it apart with their fingers and picked up some more beetles and a few worms.

 

They had one jar left and they couldn't do this halfway. The well probably had some water bugs. They walked towards it. Each well had been built exactly the same in Home. A large cistern made of stone with metal pumps to gather water stationed in the sides. Some fancy magichanical set up beneath the earth brought water to fill the cisterns. It was crude, especially since a monster with water magic had to be there to run the machinery, but it was decent enough for Home. New Home was powered by The Core and didn't need such a complicated set up.

 

They crouched on the moss that grew around the well. The sides wept water, the solid stone feeling the abandonment. Moss trailed all over the rusty pumps, some small blue flowers growing here and there. The area around the well was wet, some small stagnant puddles gathered at a particularly bad drip. They peered into the green tinged puddle. There.

 

They scooped up the swimming insect with their jar and capped it. They glanced around, spotting Toriel by a house covered in creepers. They triumphantly walked over with their jars and poked her in the shoulder. Mom immediately gushed over their bugs and began to teach Frisk about them. They listened, feeling content. Yes. This could work.

 

After a morning of bug hunting they both returned to the house. Toriel made snail pie for lunch and then settled in the living room. Frisk brought out their sketchpad and battered pencil crayons. Mom read a book she had picked up on her last grocery trip. Frisk sketched their Mom. Sitting in her chair by the magical fire, face soft and content. Reading glasses reflecting light and the book nestled in her giant palms. It was peaceful.

 

They couldn't finish it. The picture was missing  _ things _ . And it felt like a betrayal. They needed to see Asriel scowling over his homework, chewing his lips raw with his little baby fangs. They needed to see Asgore in a badly knitted sweater, a tea cup by his elbow and a book in his hand. They needed Mom to glance up and ask Asriel if he needed help. And he gets all huffy but reluctantly says yes. The deep bass rumble of Dad’s laughter. The click of your knitting needles-

 

You scrape your pencil into the page, ripping it almost in half. Toriel glances up, brow furrowed, but you sign  _ okay _ and she goes back to her novel. You flip two pages in the book and try to remember the bugs you had caught and what they looked like.

 

Time is strange underground. In The Ruins small amounts of sunlight can penetrate but most of the time it’s simply dark. They feel hungry and they eat, they are tired and they sleep. The only times Frisk actually knows when it is, is when Toriel takes them into The Ruins themselves. The faint sunlight that manages to shine underground let's them know what sort of day it is, the weather, occasionally the time. It is strange. They vaguely remember it took a long time to get used to it before. And now they had lived on the Surface once more and it confused them. Toriel tried to keep a steady schedule but Frisk knew most of the monsters had lost the ability to tell if it was morning or night. They just did stuff whenever they felt it appropriate. A strangely freeing state.

 

Frisk thought that several weeks had passed. Their sketchbook was filled with flowers, buildings, and bugs and they counted by each page that was filled. After eating and that day's lessons Toriel would sit by the fire with a book or her knitting and Frisk would draw. It was nice. They tried to fill a page a day in order to keep track.

 

Mom had already knitted some hats and sweaters for them so they didn't have to wear the old, dusty clothes of previous children. They were forced to wear their own pants and their jeans were looking pretty tattered by this point. Mom had started to mutter about clothes shopping and Frisk hoped that wasn't anytime soon. Clothes shopping was  _ boring _ .

 

Today Mom had to go grocery shopping. They had no idea how she managed it since the Ruins were closed off and apparently she never left… however she did it, she gave Frisk a cellphone and instructions to not leave the house no matter what. Frisk nodded and pocketed the ancient brick. Toriel gave them a kiss on their messy brown hair and strode out the door.

 

They listened for the clunk of the door closing then stretched. They ran their fingers through their hair and tugged some knots free with a grimace. Maybe they should get it cut. They debated grabbing a knife from the drawer and doing it themselves but Mom would probably have a heart attack. Or SOUL attack. Or whatever the monster equivalent was. They couldn't go outside so they needed to do  _ something _ or they’d go bonkers. 

 

A book then. They walked up the stairs to their room. They had changed the room after weeks of living there. Their pictures were hung on the walls, some of the toys Mom had brought back for them were splayed all over the floor. The clothes they could wear spilled out of the drawers and closet in messy piles, and their bedsheets had been thrown to the floor this morning. They went up to their pile of books. Frisk had simply stacked them in the corner, pulling the ones they wanted to read. They considered their collection.

 

CLUNK

 

That sounded like the front door. Was Mom back already? They hadn't even  _ done  _ anything yet. That was much too quick. Plus, she always called out when she opened the door-

 

GRRRRN GRRRRN GRRRRN

 

That… they knew that sound. Only the Ruins doors made that sound. They were so heavy and they slid against the stone so it had worn massive scrapes into the rock. But they were locked. Mom always locked them. And only Mom could break that kind of magic. 

 

They barely dared to breathe, listening as hard as they could. They could hear a low, bass rumble.

 

No one but Mom… or another Boss Monster.

 

Frisk stood, slightly panicking. They… they hadn't SAVEd had they? They reached into their pocket and held the paring knife in their hands. 

 

_ The feeling of the knife in your hands fills you with Determination. _

 

Okay so they could come back now. They should have SAVEd earlier. Stupid stupid stupid. They crept forward to their door, pressing an ear to it. They could faintly hear the clank of metal on stone and the rumbling voice was getting louder. Okay. Okay.

 

Okay.

 

Frisk cracked the door open a tad and slipped out, glancing around furtively. They just had to make it out the front door. They padded down the stairs ever so carefully, sweat gathering in their palms. They could hear something else in the pauses between the bass voice. A small croak that echoed through the hallway below the house. If they listened they could hear-

 

“Sure… human… here?”

 

“Ribbit…. Ribbit.”

 

The clank and clatter of metal on metal and metal on stone. Guards then. In armour. Frisk padded towards the door and pushed, feeling sweat break out on their brow. The stone door was not meant to be  opened by small human bodies.

 

It started to move and-

 

“Human! Halt!”

 

Frisk cursed under their breath and darted through the door. They almost got stuck but sucked in their stomach and sidled by. A metal clad hand tries to catch the end of their sweater but they were running.

 

“After them! Don't let it escape!”

 

Frisk jumped over rocks and plowed through leaves, their feet ached as the bare soles slapped against the gravel and stone. A bright bolt of green magic struck the wall beside them and they ducked as another flew over their head. Their hair frizzed from the static and they almost tripped as they turned sharply. Over the sound of their heart and harsh breaths they could hear the clatter of metal and they ducked into a small tunnel. They pushed along, back scraping against the ceiling.

 

The other end darkened and the hissing of curses echoed in the small space. Green lit up and Frisk gasped.

 

“No, you idiot! If you kill them in there we won’t get the SOUL!”

 

The green vanished and they managed to push through the other side. They blinked at the bright sunlight. They could faintly hear the sounds of croaking through the hole, the translation magic tingling. It was telling them where it led.

 

Frisk growled in their head and started into Home. Hopefully the maze of buildings would keep the pursuers occupied long enough for Mom to get home. They shivered in the dark but entered one of the crude houses anyways. The creepers parted and they huddled in a corner under a window. Mom would scare the bastards off. And maybe do some damage, too. They deserved it.

 

Every sound made them tense, ears straining for the sound of metal or paws. There were insects crawling up their legs but they didn't dare brush them off. The faint sunlight across the street was slowly fading as time wore on. Had Mom come home yet? Had the guards given up? 

 

The air was slightly chilly and they put their hands under their armpits. Their back was stinging from scraping against the rock and they had probably ruined their new sweater. Something scurried through the dark house and they shivered.

 

_ Sniff sniff sniff _

 

They stiffened.

 

_ Clunk clunk  _

 

Through memories that weren't theirs they knew that the Royal Guards had dogs. They really hadn't thought this through. How could you hide your scent?! They could faintly hear the plip plop of a Froggit jumping followed by murmured voices. Were they try to be stealthy? In armour? They were crazy.

 

“Around here?” A familiar deep voice and they fought not to peek over the window.

 

“Wuff!”

 

“You two take that side, I'll take the middle with Lesser Dog. Froggit, stay here. Grid search.”

 

Shit.

 

Frisk looked around their hiding spot. There was one door and a single window. If there was any other openings it was lost in the darkness. They would have to fight their way through. 

 

But that was okay.

 

They had SAVEd so if they died they would just end up back in their room. And they would know there was a dog and they could work through that problem somehow.

 

Frisk stood. They could hear the pad of paws and snuffle of a nose coming closer. They gripped the knife and tensed their legs.

 

The doorway darkened and lit with a burst of sparks and fire magic. They saw a surprised face before they lunged.

 

The dog guard yipped when they rushed forward, scrambling out of the way. You leap, grab onto a shoulder, pull, grasp a horn and you’re on a shoulder, the doorway almost hitting your head. Before the King can react you jump off once more and take off.

 

The dog barks. A fireball glances off a wall, burning the vines. The other two guards clomp from an alleyway and Frisk skitters to a stop. They grip the paring knife tighter, summoning the will, thinking of how much  _ shit _ they've ruined…

 

They dodge a flash of green magic and lunge. Their knife plunges through armour, sinking into the body underneath. They pull it out and slash at the other guard as the first one crumbles to dust. A glancing blow, but enough distraction for them to run, scattering dust all over. They’re leaving dusty footprints but they don't have  _ time _ to fix it. The frantic barking of the dog means the King is near.

 

Frisk passes through another courtyard, their side aching. Their feet are dusty and bloodied, the soles torn from running through rocks and thorny vines. They slip on the wet moss and crack their nose against the cobblestones. They scream silently, hands clutching their face. They taste blood and spit it out, wincing as agony flares into their forehead.

 

“Ah, human.”

 

Shit shit shit. They manage to turn over and see the big white blob of the King above them though pained tears. They would glare if they could but just moving sends crackles of pain through their face. They manage to make a rude gesture, hands covered in the guards dust.

 

“I am sorry, child. But my people…” they can see the bright red of the Trident and they tense, waiting for death.

 

It pierce's through their brain and there is only a sharp white pain before silence.

 

………….

 

They wake up?

 

No.

 

Frisk sits up, the bright yellow flowers around them sending out waves of pollen.

 

_ No. _

 

Faint sunlight glitters off the tall columns, lighting up the yellow flowers growing out of the cracks.

 

**NO.**

 

They clutch their head and curl into a ball. They SAVEd. They SAVEd. So why… why…

 

Maybe if they die? But the body before hadn't gone back here whenever it died. It just went to the last SAVE. Was it  _ them? _ Were they stuck in a loop but the body wasn't? Did it matter what SOUL was in control?

 

They stand up and grip their pocket knife. They walk to a patch of flowers and f o c u s.

 

_ The sight of Ebott flowers fills you with Determination. _

 

They stumble back to their landing spot, feeling out of sorts and weak. That’s okay. They need to conduct an experiment anyways and for this they don’t require a body.

 

They

 

P

U

L

L

 

And you stare at the small SOUL. It quivers, as if it can sense what you are about to do. Maybe it can. You send apologies and comfort towards it before reaching out and

 

**Crushing**

 

They stand in front of a patch of flowers, gripping their broken switchblade. They fold to the ground, not caring where they land. Their hands grow slack and the blade rattles away into the gloom.

  
It’s  _ you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget you can follow updates and ask questions on my tumblr:
> 
> HTTP://barkingpup49.tumblr.com/


	7. Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter pretty darn close to the last one because I couldn't stop writing. 
> 
> :p

Toriel finds them eventually. When the sun has long passed and the cavern is dark, her fire magic casting long shadows on the wall. She speaks and fusses but they do not react. They let themselves be carried, feeling numb.

 

They are placed in the bed, a worried paw strokes their hair and a soft voice murmurs reassurances. She leaves and they stare at the ceiling. 

 

She cracks open the door and leaves a slice of pie on the floor. 

 

They can hear the crackle of the fireplace and the creaking of the rocking chair.

 

They can hear the creak of paws in the hallway and the click of a door closing.

 

The silence is suffocating. They wish they could talk if ony to fill the silence. It feels as if there is a weight sitting on their chest, refusing to let them breathe. Pushing down on their ribs. Trying to break them into tiny bloody pieces.

 

If they left the barrier with the small SOUL in control… would they escape? Would they be able to leave and return to their Not-Mom and the small house? But they hadn't died the first time. They had just… stepped and the world had

 

**Bro** Ken _ rI _ ppED **_reFO_ ** **rm** eD

 

As far as they knew, dieing was the only way to access a SAVE… 

 

They consider and reach for the magic that hums in their veins. They slip through eddies of colours and feelings until they reach the massive pool of Determination. It buzzes, almost audibly, and they stretch towards the tether.

 

It burns. Thick with magic. It eddies and pulses, swirling against their consciousness like a living thing. They slip further into the stretch of magic, curling and swirling through them with hot sparks. It presses, heavier the further they go, they are small, so small and the magic is crackling and popping and boiling and it sucks them in and peels them apart and they are breaking and pieces are vanishing and they can't remember who they are-

 

They jerk back, dropping out of their magic, stomach lurching as they come back to their body laying on the bed. They feel sweat dripping down their nose and they are heaving. That… that was  _ terrifying _ . Never again. They would have been  _ consumed,  _ absorbed until nothing is left. They can’t… 

 

_ No. _

 

They finally move, feeling rushing to their limbs. They wince at the tingling, stretching and curling their fingers and toes. Their heart pounds and they stumble as they stand up. They need a glass of water.

 

Frisk steps over the cold slice of pie and walks downstairs. They slump at the sink, glass in hand, as they pump the tap. They sip, feeling their heart settle. Their clothes are wet and Toriel doesn't have a shower. Gross. 

 

So they can’t access the SAVE’s without dying. Or at least, the pain of dying makes the access not as horrifying. It still doesn't explain what happened when they exited the barrier. There had been no pain just the disorientation and blackness. So what was it? What happened?

 

Frisk pressed the cool glass to their forehead and sighed. Maybe they could try and pass the barrier with the other SOUL? Did…

 

Did they even  _ want  _ to?

 

They had been enjoying themselves. Going bug hunting, eating good food, even learning things they already knew. Dad and Asriel were gone but… they had Mom. And… maybe it was selfish and they didn't deserve it but they wanted to keep her. They didn't  _ want  _ to leave.

 

So

 

So… 

 

Maybe they just needed to get rid of the Froggit that squealed and they could live with Mom forever. They could always sit by her side and listen to her voice and get tucked in and get kisses on their forehead. And  _ no one  _ else would take that away.

 

Frisk swallowed the rest of the water. They could hear Mom’s nasal snores upstairs. It hasn't been that long since she went to bed. They had time.

 

Frisk finds the paring knife and places it in their pocket. They slip on their sneakers and shove the door open. Mom sleeps like the dead, they’ll be fine. The Ruins are quiet, the faint buzzing chirps of night insects the only sound. Occasionally the moon will shine through the roof and illuminate patches of flowers. Everything is colourless in the darkness, they shiver and wish they had brought a light of some sort.

 

Their sneakers crunch on dry leaves and they step over puzzles, wading through the water when they need to. They have to be as silent as possible. Which would be so much easier if they had brought some sort of goddamn light source. They curse in their head when they, once again, step on dry roots and dessicated flowers.

 

_ Finally  _ they come to the goal. It’s quiet. The hum of insects behind them and only faint croaks ahead. Froggit’s gather in groups at night, and they know only a few that have enough magic for translation spells. Not that they could tell in the dark but that’s fine. That’s just fine.

 

Their socks squish in their shoes. The faint moonlight shines on pudgy faces and twitching limbs. They raise the knife.

 

They wash in the stream, watching the grey slither away in the water. Thier shoes are already soaked so dipping them in the water doesn't make a difference. They cup their hands and splash water on the stone, washing away their footprints. It’s the best they can do at the moment. They walk back to the house.

 

They feel… odd. 

 

Something is slithering under their skin, pushing into all their cavities, filling them up, running through their blood and muscles. Their fingers twitch and they can't stop it. They are buzzing, they need to move, to do  _ something. _

 

They slide through the front door and up the stairs. They pause in front of their room. Something is off.

 

They walk to the end of the hallway. Toriel is still snoring in her room, the house is dark. They stare into the mirror.

 

_? _

 

They reach up, fingers running over their cheeks. They… can’t… stop…

 

**Smiling**

 

They try to pull their mouth down, fingers hooked into their cheeks. They. They. They  **s m i l e.** Frisk pushes their cheeks in. Still. They can’t… what is  _ wrong. _ They pull their cheeks as far down as they can and their eyelids go with it.

 

_ What- _

 

What was… 

 

They peel their eyelids back and their red red  _ red red  _ **_red r e d_ ** eyes stare back. They could have sworn…

 

Toriel snorts in her room and Frisk jumps. They scurry as quietly as they can to their own room. They carefully pull off their sweater and bundle it up, trying to keep the dust contained. They check their jeans. Clean. Tomorrow they’ll have to dispose of the sweater. They reach into the tidy closet and pull out a red and green sweater. It will do.

 

They slide under the sheets and stare at the ceiling. Their fingers are still twitching and they curl them into fists. They feel restless. Maybe if they close their eyes they’ll sleep. Eventually.

 

The clinking of pots wakes them up. They blink and squint. Their eyes feel gritty. They yawn, rub their eyes, and sit up. Their hands are covered in dust.

 

They hiss and rub them on the blanket. Oh. Wait, no, it was just some sort of sleepy hallucination. Ha.

 

They slide out of bed and stretch, popping their back. They feel… good. The restlessness of before is gone and they feel energetic, confident, ready to take on the world. They almost skip down the stairs and don’t have to pretend to smile as Toriel greets them.

 

_ Hi Mom _

 

“Oh…. If- if it makes you happy you can call me that.” 

 

Oh. Right. They stick the smile back just as it starts to droop.  _ It would. _

 

At least Toriel looks happy, her humming more upbeat. They plop themselves into a chair and swing their legs. They just feel so… 

 

So….

 

**Happy.**

 

They want to preserve this moment forever.

 

Mom places a plate of fried snails and white tubers in front of them. They eat, listening to Mom ramble about what she wants to teach them, the places she wants to show them, how wonderful it is to have a family. They can't stop smiling and it feels good.

 

Mom takes them bug hunting, remarks on the abundance of insects.

 

Mom teaches them about The Ruins, about history, and magic.

 

Mom cooks a casserole and bakes a pie. They eat it by the warm fire.

 

Mom shows them how to see their magic. They are very bright, she remarks, before sending their SOUL back.

 

Mom shows them how to bake and the lesson ends in a lumpy misshapen mess but they eat it anyways.

 

They let the small SOUL control the body and it makes friends with a ghost.

 

They SAVE frequently, wary of repeating mistakes.

 

They fill the walls of their room with drawings, the shelves with books. Mom insists on shopping for pants and they pick the first pair that fits.

 

They smile, they laugh, they bake, they cry, they love, they are so  **so S O** happy.

 

Mom clicks her tongue one night, the clack of knitting seizing. Frisk looks up from drawing a flower they had seen in Home the other day.

 

“It seems I've forgotten to purchase more yarn. I’ll have to take a trip tomorrow.”

 

They tap the floor and Toriel looks at them.  _ Where do you buy yarn? _ They sign.

 

She smiles and puts down her knitting. “I give my own fur to the spiders and they spin it for me. Talented little monsters. While I'm there I may as well order some things…” she trails off and taps her claw against her chin. “I’ll leave you some chores to do, Frisk, and when I come back we’ll bake something special.”

 

_ Chocolate?  _ They sign hopefully.

 

Mom laughs. “Why not. I’ll pick up some chocolate while I’m there and we’ll bake something delicious.”

 

Frisk pumps their fist and goes back to drawing. Toriel continues knitting, carefully eyeing the yarn she has left.

 

The next morning Frisk wakes to a bowl of warm gruel sweetened with sugar. They aren't sure  _ what  _ it’s made of exactly but it tastes good so they don't question it too much. Beside the bowl is a note listing their chores and reminding them not to leave the house. Frisk finishes their breakfast and stretches.

 

Dusting first.

 

They pick up the polished stick with a bundle of feathers stuck to it. It’s old fashioned anywhere but the Underground, the feathers are a multitude of colours, probably belonging to various feathered monsters. They strike a pose and begin to dust, dancing to the music in their head. The chorus swells and they leap from the armchair, landing on their feet with a smack, arms up.

 

Clean their room? Ugh. That’s last. Ah, dishes, they can do that.

 

They pump the tap, filling up one of the rare steel pots and put it on the stove. They start the residual fire magic with a click of flint, the spark darting out and flaring. They eye the flame. The residue seems strong enough to hold the flame on high for at least a while. Hopefully long enough to boil the water. They grab their stool and go to the top of the fridge, picking up the bucket of sand. They place the bucket by the sink and nod. Ready for dishes.

 

And they wait.

 

_ Finally  _ the water begins to bubble and steam. They carefully remove the pot and pour the water into the sink. They put a dampener on the fire and it snuffs, not even fire magic able to survive without oxygen. They begin washing, rubbing the sand on the worst bits. They start up another song in their head and wiggle their hips since their hands are full of dishes and water.

 

Click. Last dish  _ done. _ And now…. Their room. Eck.

 

They trudge up the stairs and enter their cave. The walls are covered in drawings, overlapping everywhere, some have fallen from the snail gum losing its stickiness. There is a puzzle Mom found on the floor, pieces scattered all over. A pile of clothes in the corner awaits being tucked away semi-neatly. They sigh and begin.

 

They don't have any more snail gum so the pictures are stacked in a corner. They’ll have to remind Mom to pick some up next shopping trip. They hang up some clothes and stuff the rest in their already bulging drawers. They can only close one halfway but that’s good enough. There are some runaway puzzle pieces under the pile and they add those to the open box. Their bed sheets are straightened and draped over the mattress, a sock falls into the floor and they kick it under their bed. They pick up some toys and toss them into the toy box, pocketing the stray piece of gold found under a rubix cube. The books stacked in the corner are given a push to straighten them.

 

They stand back and survey their domain. Good enough.

 

They pick up their sketchbook and crayons and sit down to draw and wait.

 

BOOM

 

They wake with a snort, peeling their cheek off the picture. The colours are smudged with drool and they blink, confused. The walls shake, dust and grit swirling in the air. There is another rattling crack that vibrates the entire house. Something downstairs smashes.

 

_ What- _

 

The earth shakes. The wall they’re staring at cracks with a sharp sound. The spider web of fissures reach the ceiling and something groans torturously. Frisk stands and runs to their door, flinging it open. The hallway is in shambles, the mirror at the end of the hall is scattered across the floor. They pick their way carefully through the minefield and hop over collapsed steps. 

 

BOOM BOOM CRACK

 

They stagger, gripping the railing. A piece of ceiling falls with a thud, scattering rock and dust everywhere. They can hear something over the pounding of their own heartbeat and the increasing groans of the walls. It’s coming from the basement.

 

Frisk walks around the broken ceiling. If they stare straight up they can see their room. The closer they get to the exit stairs the more the air buzzes, the audible thrum vibrating their teeth. 

 

BOOM

 

They dive for the stairs just as one of the walls collapse. The dust coats their tongue and makes their eyes water. In the cloud they can  _ see _ the crackling pop of magic, burning away motes with flashes of light and heat. They stumble down the stairs, blinking through tears and fighting not to rub their eyes.

 

Through the vibrating buzz of magic they can hear voices, muffled and indistinct when they should be clear. Despite the pounding in their head, the vibrations cascading through their bones, they  _ know  _ those voices.

 

They run.

 

Light blooms in the dark of the hallway, a haze of heat making everything blurry. The walls weep molten, their feet burn and stick and tear. Mom stands before the open Ruins doors, her magic flaring in a halo of heat and light and  _ presence  _ around her. There is dust  _ familiar dust  _ swirling around her ankles as her magic pulses and curls.

 

Across the hallway, fur slick, stands Asgore. His trident clutched in clawed paws, eyes glowing as his own magic beats against Mom’s. His feet have sunk into the melted rock below him, his horns wreathed in flames.

 

They are yelling and crying, tears evaporating in the heat. Toriel gestures violently and Asgore parries and the clash of magic shakes the hallway with a deafening crack. A hand is conjured and swings towards Mom who counters with a maze of fire that evaporates the magic construct. Asgore, his fur steaming, holds out his hand, a pleading look on his face. Toriel glances away and sees-

 

Her eyes widen and her mouth forms words that Frisk can’t hear over the vibrations in their skull. They can feel something dripping but everything burns so much they can’t tell from where or what it is. They are determined to move forward and they peel themselves off the walls and floor as they keep. Going.

 

Asgore, mouth thin, eyes pained, takes the opening and-

 

They feel the cold of the trident slide through their stomach and it feels so good. They blink hazily at their Mom’s crying face and try to smile. Asgore looks sad. So sad. And they reach out with blackened fingers to… make… dad… smile…

 

They wake in a patch of golden flowers.

  
And they cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow me and ask questions on my tumblr:
> 
> http://barkingpup49.tumblr.com/


	8. And Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter before the long one! Have some more memories!
> 
> And, yeah, Chara was messed up Before their fall and they just got worse *wiggles eyebrows*

_ Not-Mom and Not-Dad have always been more interested in each other than you. You don't mind. You come and go and always have a meal or food to find. You spend hours in the backyard, accidentally sleep in an alleyway, learn the names of all the homeless, and pet every dog you come across.  _

 

_ Not-Dad leaves and things are fine until they are not. _

 

_ Not-Mom suspects and calls you a liar and drinks and drinks and screams and cries. You don't mind. You feel as if you deserve this. This karmic backlash. This punishment. _

 

_ They can’t afford the house so Not-Mom moves them into a small, cheap suburb house with a backyard that goes on forever and neighbours that hiss insults when they think you can't hear. _

 

_ You get hit by a car and travel back in time. _

 

_ This odd occurrence doesn't change much until it becomes everything. _

 

_ The house is new, the furniture barely placed and the cupboards filled when things go bad. Not-Mom drinks to forget. And forgets  _ everything.

 

_ You walk the seven blocks to school, Not-Mom passed out on the couch with the TV murmuring in the background. You slop milk all over the counter when you pour your own breakfast, Not-Mom having left for work early. You come home to a locked door and a dark, silent house. You sleep in the shed for a week before figuring out how to pick locks. Permission slips stay unsigned on counters, and report cards have to be dug out of the trash. Not-Mom spends more time away from home and longer hours glued to a bottle. _

 

_ And yet. _

 

_ And. Yet. _

 

_ Somewhere deep inside there must be  _ something  _ that believes or hopes. Because the cupboards go bare, the condiment bottles empty and you are laying on your bedroom floor unable to get up before you realize... _

 

_ You wake several weeks earlier and begin to plan. Money disappears from Not-Mom’s purse, the habit of carrying cash a boon. The clocks in the house, except for her room, are forward an hour. Not-Mom wakes up and is forced to eat breakfast at home, brain too hungover to put the pieces together. You learn the teacher's movements, whose backpack is whose, and you watch for a week to see every packed snack. Not-Mom’s wine disappears on the weekend so she has to go shopping. You sneak in the car, you follow the cart, and Not-Mom can't say anything as you place simple food items inside. It works in it’s own broken way and you are mildly content. _

 

_ Not-Mom is not. _

 

_ You have discovered the Determination and are experimenting how to summon it. Mom never taught you  _ how  _ to harness it, in theory humans shouldn't be able to. So you fumble and try to remember what they told Asriel. You’ve made as many points as you can and so… _

 

_ When Not-Mom gets drunk. And wraps her hands around your throat. And watches impassively as you scrabble uselessly at her wrists. _

 

_ You are only three hours behind. _

 

_ You spend a ridiculous amount of time breathing and crying. You think you still had some sort of hope or belief, maybe a memory of real Mom softening Not-Mom. But your death passes before you willingly exit your room. Even then you make sure Not-Mom is in her room instead of on the couch before going to the kitchen. You slip a knife into your pocket and feel a bit safer. _

 

_ So you are prepared. _

 

_ When Not-Mom grabs Not-Dad’s gun. And calls you a demon and a monster and a horrible child. And as the bullet pierce's your leg so your knife goes through her heart. _

 

_ You sit and you wait to bleed out. The body of Not-Mom oozes and you feel satisfaction. You die smiling. _

 

_ You are only two hours behind. _

 

_ You hide the gun in your drawers and eventually toss it in the river on the way to school.  _

 

_ Not-Mom has become less gentle so you don't expect. The crack of a hand across your face. The bright sharp pain of the coffee table in your skull. And as Not-Mom cries and sobs and kicks you as you lay down and die… _

 

_ You are only three hours behind. _

 

_ You walk the seven blocks home and pick the lock. Not-Mom barely jerks out of her alcoholic haze as your knife slides through her fetid rotten self again and again and again and again and again and again- _

 

_ You feel marginally better. _

 

_ You slide the knife through your jaw and up to your brain. _

 

_ You are three hours behind. _

 

_ You walk to a bakery you discovered on one of your walks and eat muffins and drink tea until you feel bloated. You waddle home and pick the lock and creep past the snoring Not-Mom on the couch. _

 

_You fight back when Not-Mom grabs your arm but she is so big and you are so small. Your arm snaps when you fall wrong. Not-Mom won't_ **shut up** _so you peel yourself off the floor, spit out blood, and cut cut_ ** _c u t_** _until she is only screaming and can’t run. You grab the cleaver with your good hand and spend several satisfying moments with the repetitive, soothing motions of lift and down lift and down lift and down. You exhaust yourself and end up sleeping propped against the counter, broken arm cradled in your lap._

 

_ You die of shock. But it’s a peaceful death. _

 

_ You are a day behind. _

 

_ You. Want. _

 

_ To escape, to run, to end it all, to live, to be happy, to stop feeling, to be normal, to just  _ **die** already.

 

_ Eventually something penetrates the haze of time, a feeling, an uneasiness. Not-Mom gives you  _ looks _ and is still rough and ignores you but only tries to kill you when she’s drunk.  _

 

_ You consider this a victory. _

 

_ You SAVE whenever there’s a chance of meeting drunk Not-Mom. _

 

_ And you are content. _

 

_ The small SOUL is still frightened but you eventually coax it into taking its first steps. The small spark of happiness is worth it. It learns how to breathe (two deaths), it learns how to walk (seven deaths), it learns how to  _ BE.

 

_ You give it school. It can't be human but school doesn't want you to be human. It revels in the feeling of the desks on its fingers. It chews pens until they burst and drip from its mouth. It scribbles lines and circles on the pages of your notebooks, not able to write but enjoying the magic of making things. It does not retain information and cannot answer unless you prod it but the teachers don't care as long as your homework is done and tests adequate. _

 

_ It wants to be friends with  _ everyone  _ and  _ everything.  _ You steer it away from the slavering dog on the way home. You take over when it reaches for the white van parked on the street, the smiling young man offering a hand. You take control of the legs when it attempts to touch the foaming squirrel seizing in the bushes. You keep it safe from bullies and Not-Mom and you  _ **_feel_ ** _ it’s happiness like a balm. You feel… like you are worth something. At least a little. _

 

_ You wonder if this is part of your karmic punishment. If something horrible is going to happen. Or if this is the only happiness you’ll ever get. The only thing outside of yourself that you will interact with.  _

 

_ It would be funny. If the SOUL didn't deserve it. _

 

_ As you harness the power of Determination you learn how to manipulate it. So you try and send a little into the tiny SOUL. It pulses, the faded pink darkening briefly. And outside… outside, the body flips it’s hands and wiggles fingers and  _ signs an entire sentence.

 

_ The SOUL has that small prick of happy but  _ **_you,_ ** _ you are ecstatic. If you give all your determination to the SOUL would it be able to take over? Could it live on its own, with  _ you  _ as the afterimage, a pale mockery of what you once were? _

 

_ You begin slow. _

 

_ A leak here, a leak there. The stunted SOUL flirts (weird but it likes that), and manages a smile, they sign a sentence, badly draw a picture, even make a SAVE. _

 

_ The determination never stays. You watch it closely when you open a channel and it pours into the small SOUL, saturating the aura, then eventually evaporates back to you. It doesn't look quite right. The red sits on top, not in like your SOUL. So you must need to overload it, to pour as much as you can. _

 

_ You tell the SOUL this late at night when you are staring at your ceiling. It doesn't quite understand but your excitement infects it with a small spark of its own emotion. You open the channels as wide as they can go, grasp the determination and p u s h. _

 

_ It burns as it leaves you. You can feel yourself weakening, awareness muffled, the crackle and snap of magic is muted behind a grey haze. _

 

_ So you don’t- _

 

_ You don’t notice _

 

_ Until it’s almost too late. _

 

_ The small SOUL is surrounded with redred r e d and the magic pours and settles and consumes. The SOUL is weak and fragile, barely a SOUL at all and it has never felt the saturation of magic and it is b r e a k i n g and pieces are swirling away to be eaten by the bright red r e d of determination and it is crushed as the magic flows inside it and presses and presses and fills- _

 

_ You barely manage to stop the flow, your consciousness foggy and disoriented. The tiny SOUL pulses weakly and it has pieces missing and  _ **_you_ ** _ did that and you were supposed to protect it and oh god you are worthless disgusting creature a true demon- _

 

_ The magic begins to evaporate back into you and the SOUL reaches out with slightly stronger waves of forgiveness and kindness. _

 

I don't deserve it

 

_ You tell the SOUL. _

 

_ But it refuses.  _

 

_ And as the magic resettles and the small SOUL is back to its pale pink self you allow, just this once, to bask in the feeling of kindness. _

 

_ You really don't deserve it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can get real time updates and ask me questions on my tumblr:
> 
> http://barkingpup49.tumblr.com/


	9. And Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished this up yay! Next chapter in all it's beautiful glory. 
> 
> I'd never leave you guys hanging with a wimpy chapter like the last one ;p

Frisk breathes in the stale, thick air of The Ruins and stares through tears at the tiny pinprick of light far above them. Their skin tingles with remembered pain and they keep expecting to see charred muscle and bone when they look over.

 

Who…

 

Who had told the King?

 

The Froggit's were gone. They made sure of that. The ghost the small SOUL had befriended could barely speak at all and apparently rarely left their house. It must have been one of the other monsters in The Ruins.

 

They had been  _ so close _ . It had lasted for so long. They had strings and strings of memories covering the months that had passed. Happy, content months. Could they never be happy? Was this part of their punishment? To have happiness right  _ there  _ and taken away cruelly?

 

They had to try again.

 

Frisk sat up. They scoured the area and found a relatively sturdy stick. It almost felt familiar and they laughed at the idea of it being the one they used on Asgore. Probably not. But it would have been funny. They slid into the shadows behind one of the pillars.

 

And waited.

 

The sun waned. A line of ants crawled across their arm and they watched it, bored out of their mind. They blew motes of dust and pollen away, watching them swirl in the sunlight. They heard the Pat Pat Pat of paws on stone and they folded themselves even smaller.

 

Toriel glanced around the cavern, eyeing the crushed patch of flowers suspiciously. Fortunately, she only gave a cursory search before walking back out.

 

The sun vanished. The moon must have been bright because it shone through the holes in the ceiling. They wished they had a flashlight. When Frisk felt a suitable amount of time had passed they slid into the shadows and walked.

 

And walked.

 

And walked.

 

And walked.

 

They came to a stream on one of the puzzles and waded into the middle. They ducked quickly, feeling the cold water rush over their head. When they resurfaced they scowled at the strings of dust still trickling away. The water was like ice but they were determined to get clean. They rubbed their hands over their sweater, flapping it as best they could when it was soaked. They ducked their head once more and ruffled their hair and wiped their face.

 

They shivered uncontrollably when they stepped out. Teeth chattering violently, the cold of The Ruins cutting through them like knives. But the water that dripped was clear.

 

They squished the rest of the way to Mom’s and pounded on the door as hard as their icy white fists would allow. The door grinds open and a small fireball lights up Mom’s surprised face.

 

“Oh my! Child, you are soaked!”

 

_ I fell in the water  _ you sign with trembling, stiff fingers.

 

Mom ushers you into the house, casting magic on the fireplace so it lights. “Oh dear, if I had known. But I’m sure I checked everywhere when I saw the flowers. Oh my, let’s get you out of those clothes, my child.” She bustles upstairs, leaving you by the welcome warmth of the conjured flame.

 

She comes back with several towels and helps Frisk peel their wet clothes off. They huddle in a soft, fluffy towel while Toriel mutters and fusses. She runs a healing hand over them and soothes the aches they had gathered walking The Ruins. Not all monsters had been asleep and not all had been taken by surprise.

 

Frisk relaxes, for they are home and they are safe and no one…  _ no one  _ would take this away.

 

They wake the next morning and sign  _ morning Mom  _ and smile at Toriel’s flustered response. They redress and go into their room and pull pictures and clean and toss clothes they can't wear. Soon it will be full of their own things and the remnants of other children will be gone. They smile.

 

Mom bakes pies and casseroles and they eat as much as they want. She reads them snail facts and history books and praises their drawings. She takes them bug hunting and shows them Home and the puzzles. They smile.

 

They fill up the walls of their room with pictures. Their clothes start spreading from the closet onto the floor. Mom brings toys and books back from her shopping trips. Mom mutters about the silence of The Ruins and walks faster when they go out. They smile.

 

Mom spends time in the basement and they sneak a listen. She speaks to a voice they only remember through other memories. She talks of quiet and vanishing and worry and the new child she has adopted. She gushes about them and they duck back into the house, blushing. They smile.

 

They are so very happy and they never want to leave. 

 

They SAVE and SAVE and SAVE and SAVE and SAVE and SAVE and SAVE and SAVE

 

They wake to a stuffy nose and a sore throat. Frisk coughs, dislodging phlegm and they swallow it with a grimace. Their head feels swirly and they stumble out of bed, dragging the blanket with them. Mom looks up from sweeping the floor and frowns.

 

“Oh dear, you don’t look so good, my child.”

 

_ Just a cold  _ They sign. But, of course, Mom is fussing and they can see the deep seated terror in her eyes so they let themselves be herded back to bed. She makes some soup and practically force feeds them tea sweetened with honey. They sleep, exhausted from such little things. They wake and hack and cough and black sludge drips from their lips. It pools onto the mattress, they can feel the slime in the back of their throat.

 

They barely make it to the toilet.

 

Shivering and covered in sweat they stare at the puke, small globs of black tar floating innocuously. They cough and wipe their mouth. They pull the string to flush and watch everything get sucked down.

 

It was nothing.

Just. Sick. That’s all.

 

They take a towel from the bathroom and stagger back to bed, wiping up the sludge on their mattress. It comes off easily, not even a stain, sticking to itself like those weird slime science projects. They hide the towel in the back of their closet and fall into a restless sleep.

 

Mom feeds them more soup and they manage a few bites before shaking their head. Mom looks so worried and they smile at her. Hm, it doesn’t seem to work that well. They force themselves to drink the tea and Mom relaxes a tad. As soon as they hear the clatter of pans in the kitchen they rush to the toilet and throw up, hacking bile and tar. Their stomach clenches. They curl up on their bed, wrapping their blankets tight and shiver.

 

Mom catches them at the toilet. Fortunately, it’s after they’ve flushed the black ooze and she just rubs their back soothingly. They sign  _ it won’t last long, don’t worry  _ but in her eyes there is a terror gripping her, hooking threads into her very SOUL. They can’t do much about that.

 

They wake, soaked in sweat and sigh with relief. They are still weak but need to reassure Mom so they slip downstairs. The kitchen is shockingly dirty, old pots and pans piled in the sink, traces of food littering the counters. No Mom though so they move on. The living room is quiet, some books stacked on the floor beside Mom’s chair. Human anatomy, human physiology, human diseases. Soaked, torn, and barely legible. Frisk feels a tingle of guilt and moves on. Maybe in her room? They pass by the basement stairs and hear-

 

Mom muttering and crying, hysterical sobs they are painfully familiar with. They trot down and through the hallway. Remembered pain burns along their skin but they force it out, this is not the time. They can hear-

 

_ Don't you know someone? _ She sobs.  _ Anyone who knows about humans? _

 

_ humans? uh… yeah, i know someone.  _

 

_ Oh thank you, thank you, thank you. _

 

_ don’t sweat it. _

 

They twitch, frozen. No, no, no no nono _ nono _ **_n o N O_ **

 

Frisk bolts up two sets of stairs and slams the door to their room before Toriel can turn around. They huddle in the corner, coughing down slime and rocking back and forth. Their breath is harsh, their chest tight. Maybe… maybe it won’t be a big deal? Memories, faded and hazy but still theirs-

 

_ if it wasn’t for that promise you’d be  _ **_dead where you stand_ **

When had Mom asked for that promise? Were they the only one she had asked it for? But it had only been a promise for coming out of Ruins… could they run? No, they could barely stand. When was their last SAVE? They couldn’t remember  _ they couldn’t remember  _ **_they couldn’t r e m e m b e r_ **

 

The walls shake.

 

Frisk coughs in breaths, spitting out a glob of slime. They’ll clean it later. They stand on shaking legs and stagger to the railing, peering over the edge. They can’t hear anything, no heavy, thick cloying magic sits on the air. The Ruins are silent. So...so…

 

That means it’s different. Right?

 

_ Right? _

 

_ R I G H T? _

 

A strange clicking sound, a flash of white and blue, they duck down but not fast enough. Their SOUL clenches, flashing out of their body, glowing blue in front of their chest. They struggle, legs and arms flailing but are helpless as gravity drags and pulls and drops.

 

They collapse to the floor below, hacking from the sudden movement. The skeleton, hand wreathed in blue, cocks his head.

 

“heh. I see you’ve been busy, kid.”

 

_ Mom? Where? _

 

His sockets go dark. “eh, she’s just knocked out down there. dunno what you were planning, all that LV and all, but, uh,” one eye burns bright blue, magical residue flaring in smoky streams. “no hard feelings, kiddo, just doin’ my job.”

 

Sharp, white bone explodes from the floor and through their ribs. They hear the crack and they can’t breath their chest won’t move and they bubble and foam and scrabble against the floor and their brain can only think of breathe breathe breathe BREATHE-

 

They wake in a patch of golden flowers.

 

Fuck.

 

They cough and hack and expect bright redred  _ red  _ like their eyes but black crawls up their throat and dribbles onto the crushed petals below. They wipe their mouth and strings of tar stretch and break, oozing down their fingers. Frisk wipes their hand on the grass and gasps in the silence of The Ruins. In and out in and out in and out in and out. See? They can breathe, their chest moves up and down. They cough. Okay. Okay. That’s… okay. They just have to do something else. They struggle to recall the faint, blurry memories of the skeleton. Vague impressions flit by and they are no closer to understanding. Frisk sighs.

 

They stand up, grab a stick and hide behind a pillar. They wait until the moon shines down and they walk and they leave dusty footprints. They wash in the stream and are warmed by a conjured fireplace and love. The next day they spit out blackness into the sink and wash it down with cups and cups of water until the last strings are gone. They find Mom cooking breakfast and they-

 

ask how to leave The Ruins.

 

Mom smiles nervously, tries to change the subject. Her paws tremble as she cuts the vegetables. They-

 

ask how to leave The Ruins

 

Mom tells them to wait, her face set, a hunch in her shoulders. She walks to the basement and they smile when the explosion rocks the house. They are still smiling when she comes back upstairs and hugs them. Whispering  _ it’s okay you’ll be okay you’ll never leave i won’t let you get hurt i love you i love you i love you _

 

Their cheeks hurt.

 

They listen to snail facts and draw and are taught the history of monsters and eat pie and eat supper and go to their new room. They pull down pictures and clean up toys and pile clothes they can wear in a corner. They sneak into the bathroom and steal a towel, already coughing when they lay down. The towel is streaked with slime and they fall into a deep, relaxing sleep.

 

They wake, spit out more tar, and go downstairs to have breakfast. Mom smiles and she looks so  _ relaxed  _ Frisk should have let her break the doors earlier. They go bug hunting and draw pictures upon pictures upon pictures. Their sketchbook fills and they have almost thirty pages of drawings. Insects, architecture, plants, furniture, food. And it’s all so good, so good, s o  g o o d.

 

The spiders come. They skitter between the rubble in waves of black and brown, sticky webs coating the banister and the doors and the corners and-

 

Asgore melts the rocks into slag, steps across the liquid magma, and a small, skittery monster follows on webs of purple. Toriel struggles in her cocoon of stickiness, muffled sobbing and screaming, her SOUL a deep purple as it hovers just above the webbing. You fight to PULL but the purple of your SOUL keeps them together and-

 

“~ahuhuhuhu you can’t just cut off my spiders supply line and not expect consequences, dearie.”

 

The trident pierces through their head and they-

 

Wake in golden flowers. They sit up, grab a stick and hide behind a pillar. As soon as Toriel leaves they walk and they make sure they squash. Every. Last. Spider. They wait until nightfall to wash and enter the house. They are warmed by towels and conjured fire. 

 

They clean every corner, break every cobweb and personally squish all the skittery, disgusting creatures. They patrol every day, walking every inch of the basement and each floor of the house. Mom takes them bug hunting and teaches them history and feeds them pie and tucks them into bed and kisses them on the forehead. In the night they wake and gag on sludge and wipe themselves on the increasingly sticky towel they hide in their closet.

 

Mom mutters about disappearances and silence and cooks everything in the pantry. The food becomes increasingly bland but you s m i l e and eat it. The warm conjured fire in the fireplace is easy to bask in and they lazily draw and draw and draw. They fill sixty pages.

 

The next morning Mom hands them a bowl of gruel, unsweetened.

 

“My child, would you be alright on your own for a bit? I’m afraid I don’t know where the spiders went and we are running dangerously low on supplies. I… I must go out and… and buy some things.”

 

You are smiling, always smiling, and you nod as you slurp the bowl. Mom gives you a soft look and pats your hair. You watch as she dresses and lifts an obviously homemade pack.

 

“Now, don’t go outside, alright? I don’t know what caused all the monsters to run but I don’t want it to get you. I left some snail pie in the fridge, carefully put it in the oven just like I showed you. Oh dear.” She fusses some more, gives them a small kiss on the forehead and steps down into the basement. Frisk creeps after her, staring at her broad back in the gloom. A flash of magic, the air crackling, and she heaves The Ruins doors open with a grinding of stone on stone. Light pierces the dark, white white snowflakes drifting through the crack. The snow begins to melt and they sit, staring until the puddle spreads across the entire hallway.

 

A pink slipper steps through, a white grinning face looks around.

 

They freeze. Not even daring to breathe. They have to-

 

Their SOUL is encased in blue.

 

The skeleton is eyeing them, cocking it’s head. It watches them struggle and flail and they try to PULL but the blue seals their SOUL together and no no no nonononono **nono n o n o n o please pleasepleaseno stop don’t no please**

 

“no hard feelings, kid, just doing my job.”

 

And there is pain and-

 

They wake in golden flowers. Frisk sits up, grabs a stick and waits behind a pillar. Toriel leaves and they walk and they leave dusty footprints. They wait until nightfall and take a swim and are warmed by a towel and love.

 

They ask how to leave The Ruins and Mom destroys the door.

 

They SAVE and SAVE and SAVE and SAVE and SAVE and SAVE and SAVE and SAVE

 

They hack up tar and smear black onto towels. They press their fingers into their skin and the indents  _ s l o w l y  _ fill in, they press and mold and their skin sticks in mountains and ridges. They stare at the mirror and it’s still t h e m it’s still  **s m i l i n g** with black stained teeth and fingerprints that sit inside their flesh. They pull their cheeks down and the skin stretches and their fingertips sink in and they peel their digits out of their cheek, the sensation of bone tingling up their arm.

 

They don’t

 

**know**

 

what’s happening. And they’re so 

 

so

 

**so**

 

scared. 

 

They know that Mom watches them, worrying, and they can only hide so many black gunked up towels before Mom wonders where they’ve gone. They try to wash them in the river at night, when Mom is snoring upstairs but the tar sticks and they spend hours and hours and nights and nights at the waterside, scrubbing and peeling and sobbing and coughing. They patrol the house and rubble, swiping at cobwebs and stomping on stray spiders. They try to hold the pencils lightly and their drawing suffers for it but if they

 

grip

the crayons s i n k into their palm and they can’t hide peeling it away, the straight canyon it creates across their hands. Supplies dwindle but whenever Mom speaks of leaving they cry and grip her dress in soft fingers.

 

_ don’t go please i’ll be good just don’t leave me please i can’t i can’t i can’t _

 

And she wraps her paws around their hands, stilling the frantic signs and kisses them on the forehead.

 

“Alright, my child, don’t worry, I’m staying.”

 

She bundles them both up, hoists her backpack and Frisk hefts their own. She takes them into The Ruins, into Home and they scavenge and scrounge. Frisk learns what is edible and what is poisonous, how to test the ripeness of the odd purple fruits that grow from the black trees, the insects that taste good fried. The meals are small and plain but they are so so s o s o happy.

 

They lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. A headache pounding behind their eyes. Is this it?

 

Are they safe?

 

Can they be happy?

 

The soft snores from across the hall are soothing. They cough, clutching their stomach, and turn over briefly to spit out the black phlegm onto the floor. 

 

If that’s it.

 

If all they need to be happy

 

is a little slime

 

a little playdoh over their bones

 

they don’t mind.

 

That’s okay.

 

They close their eyes and press their fingers into the sockets. The headache throbs. Their eyeballs s i n k deeper, and they pull their fingers from their eyelids with a sluk of skin. They blink their eyes back into place, staring at the wrinkles on their fingertips as they s l o w l y reform.

 

That’s okay.

 

They sleep.

 

They wake to the CRACK of their door being flung open, an armoured shadow in the aperture. They scramble for the knife they’ve hid under their pillow but a fit of hacking doubles them over. The guard effortlessly picks them up, arms stuck to their side, and drags them downstairs. Frisk drools black spittle all over the metal confines, their chest heaves as it struggles to draw breath. Down the stairs and there is Mom, her SOUL a bright blue, on her knees and tears running through her fur.

 

“No, no, Asgore don’t do this! Please! They’re just a child!”

 

The King looks sad, the dip of his horns melancholic, but the trident in his paws glows and there is purpose in his eyes. Determination. The blue clad skeleton beside him is staring at Frisk, and they feel their own SOUL grow heavy.

 

“been busy, kid?” He winks at them. They glare back and spit a glob of slime at him. It misses, they don’t feel a need to practice spitting regularly. But he eyes the black blob with something close to recognition. “heh. you can drop ‘em, they ain’t going nowhere.”

 

The guard looks to the king and waits for assent before dropping Frisk onto the floor. They crumple into a pile of legs and limbs, their SOUL pulling them down downdown _ down.  _

 

“ _ Please, Asgore!” _

 

Frisk glances up at the King as he approaches. They don’t understand what they did wrong. Everything was going just fine. There are no monsters to tattle. There are no spiders to complain. Mom hasn’t left The Ruins. It was  **perfect** .

 

The skeleton winks. “i see that look on your face, kid. and maybe you should think of the monsters outside of here that haven’t heard from their families in months. y’know, just a thought.”

 

What. WHAT. How does he- did he- they can’t- they can’t-

 

The skeleton chuckles, eye glowing blue. “nothin’ personal, kid, just doing my job.”

 

The trident goes through their eye and they feel how little resistance their socket and skull gives as it exits through the other side and they-

 

Wake in a patch of golden flowers. 

 

They turn over and vomit black sludge. The thickness coating their throat and tongue. Sticky strands dribble and thin as they cough the last of it up and wipe their mouth. They ignore the tickling as it oozes down their fingers. They sit in the crushed flowers, staring at the dark darker **yet** darker glop that dribbles through the plantlife.

 

They can’t win.

 

There is no winning.

 

It goes on

andon andon

 

and

 

on

And over and overandover

 

They knew they didn’t deserve happiness. They didn’t deserve to hug Mom and eat her pies and draw by firelight. They are a demon, a disgusting monstrosity, a tainted SOUL. They are wrong and defiled and they don’t d e s e r v e-

 

They dig their nails into their scalp, relishing in the feeling of fingers melting into skinandmuscle and they  _ draaaaaaag _ their nails down their skull and painpain

 

p a i n

 

feels so good. So right. All they have to do…

 

Is go.

 

They remember the route. They remember the escape. And this time this time

 

they would give it to the small SOUL. Surely whatever was keeping them down here would let such a nice, kind, deserving SOUL through. They would use up all their Determination, all their own SOUL, they would tear their own blackened, shrivelled heart into pieces to make sure the small SOUL escaped. Yes.

 

They knew what to do.

 

They had to make it to their barrier. They had to do one. last. Walk. and  _ nothing  _ and  **nobody** would stand in their way.

 

_ The idea of a new purpose fills you with Determination. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow real time updates and ask me questions on my tumblr:
> 
> http://barkingpup49.tumblr.com/


	10. Genocide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things go bad.
> 
> Also, I wrote a part of this on a graveyard shift, desperately trying to stay awake after not sleeping for 24 hrs straight. I'll give you a cookie if you figure out which part that is.

Frisk gathers supplies first. The trusty stick, the echo of dust that didn't exist clinging to the bark. They gather as many small pebbles as they can find and shove them in their pockets. They

 

they want to hit something

 

to break things

 

they try to scratch at their arms but their fingertips melt to their skin and not being able to see

 

the red

 

the break

 

the lines and lines and lines and lines

 

isn’t the same

 

even if the pain is just as sharp

 

and fingernails on bone hurthurt  _ hurt S O  _ **_G O O D_ **

 

they itch. It is an obstacle. And they can’t have obstacles. And if they have to break

 

and  _ twist _

 

make something  **h u r t** as much as they do

 

to stop the incessant crawling over their skin  _ their soft and pliable skin _

 

they knew how to satisfy the  _ s c r a t c h _

 

So they hide behind a pillar and watch ants sink into their dermis and feel the wave of tiny legs and antennae brush against their bones as they drown  _ d r o w n  _ inside them.

 

Mom comes.

 

Mom goes.

 

And they scratch.

 

The dust is grit on their tongue and irritates their bones. They scratch futilely with soft fingernails, feeling the grit move up and down and around but no way to remove it from under their skin. Their eyelashes are grey with it, their clothes puff when they move. 

 

They scratch.

 

The spiders are unnecessary yet they take great pleasure in stomping each one they find to a gooey mess. The  _ pop _ and  _ scrunch _ of exoskeleton and innards is soothing.

 

They can’t remove the stick from their palm.

 

They can feel the bark, the dust, despite the pale expanse of skin that humps around it’s spot on their palm. They watch as more of their palm slides down  _ down down. Down.  _ And they can f e e l that as it slips across more bark and touches the small sprig of newly budded leaf. They open their fingers with a sluk of skin removed from skin and wave their open hand. The stick stays put but the pitter patter of their own flesh frightens them.

 

They don’t want to wash anything. They are afraid everything will just… melt away in the water.

 

It has not darkened yet when they knock on Toriel's door. 

 

She starts but she offers them food and rest and hugs and fire and

 

they don't deserve this

 

_ They D o n ‘ t they _

 

P

U

L

L

 

The small SOUL deserves it. They  _ will  _ escape and be able to live. For now. 

 

For now you will allow the stunted thing to have a moment of peace and happiness. To eat Mom’s pie and sleep in  _ yo- _ a bed and hear snail facts.

 

While you are here… you may as well start preparing for the end. The inevitable breakout. You don’t know what will happen when you cross the barrier. When the SOUL crosses the barrier. Maybe

 

if you had enough  _ power  _ enough  _ magic  _ enough  _ determination _

 

You could force it to let the small SOUL leave. It would rip you apart, consume you, drown you. 

 

That’s okay.

But you don’t have enough as it is. 

 

Your own SOUL

 

is red redred _ r e d _ **_ReD_ **

 

as your eyes. The magic pops and crackles and spills out and swirls

 

not enough.

 

So you feel, in this bodiless form, the tether of pure Determination. It roils and pulses and  _ burns _ and 

 

_ oh god it hurts so much so bad it burns let go let goletgoletgoletgo _

 

Y

O

U

 

A

R

E

 

P

U

S

H

E

D

 

The body lurches, hand smacking on the table. The wood pulls a globule of flesh and muscle off. It splatters to the floor all white and red and yellow. They catch themselves and heave black slime. It dribbles from their mouth and down their chin. It’s cold. 

 

So cold.

 

They  _ burn. _

 

Their hand is all tendon and bone on top, muscle and fat oozing out of the gaps into the soft flesh on their fingers. 

 

_ The bones _

 

_ The bones are burning _

 

They choke on slime and try to scratch the white white bone but their fingers mold around them and it hurts it hurts so  _ bad _

 

Pieces of their fingers slip between the exposed phalanges. Running down and dripping through the dough on their fingers to plip plop onto the floor. They can’t

 

can’t

 

They peel their fingers from the slip of bone and red and yellow fat. They feel like their insides are boiling. They need to… 

 

to

 

No.

 

They have to  _ focus. _

 

_ The reminder of your mission fills you with Determination. _

 

No, no, they n  e e d that. It can’t be wasted. They need ALL of it. Every. Last. Drop.

 

It is difficult to draw magic in the body. The physical constraints make the hum and buzz of Determination muted. They fumble and grasp blindly and it still burns and their bones are vibrating and they feel sick but they

 

d o  i t

 

And it resettles back into their SOUL. The SOUL doesn’t feel pain in a traditional sense but their body interprets it as agony. It’s too much. One SOUL isn’t meant to handle this much Determination. The magic fights being constrained. It p u s h e s and finds a gap an empty vessel a tiny

 

small

 

channel

 

You clench down on the overflow, pulling it from the tiny SOUL. Your own SOUL sends pain through each limb, the body collapses in the kitchen, black drool leaking from the open mouth.

 

Y o u force. And push. The SOUL cracks and  _ bleeds red _ and magic lashes through each hole and you know if you let go now, if you go back, you’ll never be able to do this again.

 

You refuse.

 

The body stands. 

 

Frisk/You/Them take stumbling steps forward, sneakers gooshing into the pile of black and skin and muscle and fat lying on the floor. They just have to keep moving. To be determined. To get out. They have to do this.

 

For the small SOUL.

 

They stop at the stairs to the basement. One foot. Two. Why doesn’t Toriel have railings? Next step. Foot down and-

 

“Child? Child, what are doing?”

 

Keep going. 

 

“You can’t go down there! You-” The padding of paws and a hand reaches out to grasp their shoulder. Sinks into the cloth clad flesh. Pulls back.

 

Nothing will stop them.

 

“I… what… is this? Are you hurt? Please, you can’t.”

 

Nothing.

 

“He’ll kill you.”

 

They reach the bottom and it’s easier now. They do not stumble. Their bones crackle with pain and they can feel their skin pooling inside their sneakers. Each step is firey agony so they shuffle, slowly. Determined.

 

“I can’t let you leave!” 

 

They halt as a purple clad figure stands in their way.

 

_ No.  _

 

_ “ _ Please, child. You are not well and… I can't let another- I cannot allow this.”

 

_ Go away. _

 

They try to shuffle past her but she is faster than their pained steps and they are forced to halt once more.

 

“ _ Please.” _

 

They know she is crying. They can hear it in her voice. They don’t want to look. They can't. They have to keep going. Nothing can…

 

Nothing can stop them.

 

They lift their hands and sign as best they can with soft fingers and a stick embedded in their palm.

 

_ I’m sorry. _

 

The stick comes up.

 

And down.

 

They cough, spit out grey tinged slime, and walk on.

 

The cloud of grit that settles under their skin is almost a comfort. As if she’s giving them one last hug. They trudge and leave fading footprints down the hallway. The Ruins door slides open, the magic dispersing with the death of the maintainer. Icy air blows into the hallway and they lean into the cold cold feelssogood.

 

They stagger into the snow piled outside the door, squinting in the bright light. Their bones  _ ache  _ and they want to rip and t e a r and gnaw the pain o u t into the air.

 

They walk forward.

 

They can barely feel the cold. They know it is chilly out. Their clothes are moving in a wind, their hair is blowing into their face. They  **b u r n** . 

 

They can't tell if the trails they leave are dust or ash or something else. Every step is one more pattern against the pristine white. And it’s s o  f u n n y

 

You are staining

 

the purity

 

of snow.

 

Ha.

 

There is something following them. They are not sure how they know. They can  _ feel  _ a SOUL at the edge of their awareness. As long

 

as it doesn't 

 

get in their way.

 

“h e y h u m a n-”

 

Something half remembered in their pain addled brain makes them turn and grasp the skeletal hand. The bones sink into their own palm and the skeleton attached looks down at their flesh seeping over his digits.

 

“uh…” He pulls his phalanges free and grimaces at their skin stuck between his joints. He begins to pick pieces free with his other hand, giving them a flat look. “that was weird. almost like you knew what i was going to do.”

 

They turn back, staggering towards the badly blocked bridge. 

 

“hey, whoa, where do you think you’re going?”

 

It is so much effort to face behind. Their teeth are buzzing and they can feel black ichor leaking down their chin between their teeth. 

 

_ G...o…  _ the stick embedded in their palm is irritating. But they need it. Right? They need… something.

 

“i dunno what that was, kid, but you should know that my brother is a human hunting fanatic.”

 

They don’t-

 

They have to keep moving. 

 

Their SOUL cracks and strains. And they p u s h it together. They refuse.

 

“so, uh, maybe you can just… keep  pretending to be human?”

 

They turn and trudge forward. The shadow of the massive pillars falling and fading and they g o.

 

“i'm gonna take that as a yes.”

 

The Determination pulses and pounds and strains and pushes and pulls and breaks and consumes and-

 

They cannot stop.

 

They refuse.

 

_ Things  _ appear in front of them. Obstacles. In their way. And they lift.

 

And they drop.

 

And they breathe

 

the dust.

 

They feel the grit of Mum’s hug on their bones and they take comfort.

 

She is there.

 

Engraved into their very body. 

 

And t h e y w a l k.

 

Things talk and they stagger to a halt, confused. The two skeletons and voices that-

 

No, they cannot-

 

S T O P

 

They walk

 

And walk

 

And walk

 

And walk

 

They vomit black and red.

 

Wipe the grit from their eyelashes and peel their palms off their cheeks.

 

Bones burning

 

Breathing ash

 

And the stick is lifted

and dropped.

“hey, kid.”

They cough, bubbling gunk onto the snow.

“don’t fight my brother… you’ll have a bad time.”

They jerk and stare at the skeleton. They remembered those very words and they can’t stop the smile that spreads across their face. They laugh, black grime coating their tongue.

The skeleton stares without lights in his sockets. 

They fall to their knees and wheeze, grey floating down to cover the top of the snow. It’s so f u n n y.

S o

They spit out the last of the mucus, catching their breath. The skeleton is gone, the footsteps vanishing a little ways from where they fell. They hack and slide their hands from the snow. The open wound on their hand stings from the snow melting between the leftover muscles. They gasp and cough and stagger to their feet. 

The Determination crackles around their SOUL and they clench it tighter. They  P U S H and the small SOUL 

_ screams _

they crack and break and burn and melt and feel another piece d i s s a p e a r

_ s c r e a m s _

they keep 

it

apart.

Nothing matters but the SOUL. 

It can't touch the magic. It must be safe. They p U S h and it hu _ rts s o  _ **_b ad aNd_ ** _ scReaMinG _

The body walks.

The snow dots black and red and grey behind them.

The bark of the stick grinds against their bones and they cannot

stop

the magic twists

and-

“HALT, HUMAN!”

nothing will stand

“HEY, QUIT MOVING WHILE I’M TALKING TO YOU!”

in their way.

“I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS HAVE SOME THINGS TO SAY. FIRST: YOU’RE A FREAKING WEIRDO! NOT ONLY DO YOU NOT LIKE PUZZLES. BUT THE WAY YOU SHAMBLE ABOUT FROM PLACE PLACE… THE WAY YOUR HANDS ARE ALWAYS COVERED IN DUSTY POWDER. IT FEELS… LIKE YOUR LIFE IS GOING DOWN A DANGEROUS PATH. HOWEVER! I, PAPYRUS, SEE GREAT POTENTIAL WITHIN YOU! EVERYONE CAN BE A GREAT PERSON IF THEY TRY! AND ME, I HARDLY HAVE TO TRY AT ALL! NYEH HEH HEH HEH HEH!”

They remember

“HEY, QUIT MOVING! THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT! HUMAN! I THINK YOU ARE IN NEED OF GUIDANCE! SOMEONE NEEDS TO KEEP YOU ON THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW! BUT WORRY NOT! I, PAPYRUS… WILL GLADLY BE YOUR FRIEND AND TUTOR! I WILL TURN YOUR LIFE RIGHT AROUND!”

spaghetti and dates and laughter and friendship

“I SEE YOU ARE APPROACHING. ARE YOU OFFERING A HUG OF ACCEPTANCE? WOWIE!! MY LESSONS ARE ALREADY WORKING!! I, PAPYRUS, WELCOME YOU WITH OPEN ARMS!

they don't

want

_ G O _

_ G E T O U T _

_ L E A V E _

they don’t want to do this

in their way

can’t stop

Nonononono

_ S O R R Y _

_ S O S O R R Y _

The world blurs and thick black tears run down their cheeks.

They lift

and drop

“W..WELL, THAT’S NOT WHAT I EXPECTED.”

Grit in the air in their lungs in their skin on their bones. They sign with their free hand and their fingers keep sticking but they sign and sign and sign

_ S O R R Y S O R R Y S O R R Y _

_ “ _ BUT… ST...STILL! I BELIEVE IN YOU! YOU CAN DO A LITTLE BETTER! EVEN IF YOU DON’T THINK SO! I… I PROMISE…”

and

they

walk

Mum hugs their bones and they know she is happy. She understands. She must. They can feel their SOUL dissolve as the magic eats and burns and they can’t afford to stop. They will give the SOUL, the kind small SOUL, a chance. And there is black in their lungs and grit on their teeth and they walk.

Everything stands in their way. They don’t. Why don’t they just

_ G O _

But they stand and they tremble and they fight and they die. It shouldn't be happening this way. They should have a straight path. To the end. Monsters have to run. Why will they not run? 

Mum soothes them with grit in their joints and they rub so hard they peel the muscles from their arms and it falls fallsfalls _ falls.  _ They rub at the bones that blacken as the tar slips from their throat and it always burnsburns burns. They lift-

and

miss?

They stumble back and it is Undyne theyrememberherright and she is talking… to a small monster  _ monster kid _ and she bleeds dust. 

_ You did that _

A large cut through her armour, her face wrinkled in pain and there are words, so many words and they are 

in

your

way.

The monster  _ MK _ runs away, the pitter patter of clawed feet on stone and it sounds like  _ paws running running and laughter and happiness. _

“Heh...s-somehow with just one hit… I’m already… already…” She grimaces and they can see her fingers crumbling. “D...damn it… Papyrus… Alphys… Asgore...Just like that I’ve… I’ve failed you.”

They cannot linger. Their SOUL churns and breaks and dissolves and they have to m o v e-

“No.”

The air tingles and they… they know that magic, that burn and-

“My body…it  feels like it’s splitting apart… like any instant… I’ll scatter into a million pieces.”

No.

“But… deep, deep in my soul there is a burning feeling I can’t describe. A burning feeling that  _ won’t  _ let me die. This isn’t just about monster’s anymore, is it?”

Nononono 

“If you get past me, you’ll… you’ll destroy them all, won’t you? Monsters… humans… everyone…Everyone’s hopes. Everyone’s dreams. Vanquished in an instant.”

_ Let me go _

_ Let me pass _

_ I don’t… _

_ I don’t want to fight… _

And the form before them starts… reforming and there is so much magic, so much  determination. Their own roils and curls and eats another piece of them and they can’t remember what Toriel sounded like-

“But I  _ won’t _ let you do that! Right now, everyone in the world. .. i can hear their hearts beating as one. And we all have  _ one  _ goal. To defeat  _ you! _ Human, no,  _ whatever _ you are. For the sake of the whole world… I, Undyne, will strike you down!”

Undyne andtheystillremember stands and her body k n i t s back together with flashes of bright colour  _ redred r e d _ **_rEd_ ** and they can feel the cold, slick sludge run down their cheeks because they

_ can’t _

“You’re gonna have the try better than  _ That!” _

They see

_Spea_ ** _Rs_** aNd _colOurS_ **ti**

**M**

**e**

_ StuTtE _ **_rs_ **

**_S T O P S_ **

They are burning. 

The air is hot and thick and crackles in their chest.

Their eyes sting and burn and itch and they jerk a hand up to

s c r a t c h

Sludge oozes in rivulets the  **_redred r e d_ ** they

**_D O D G E_ **

A millisecond later spears whistle past and red _ red _ burns in Undyne’s empty socket, her teeth are clenched and she gestures.

They see the **_speArs_** _frOm_ unDer _grOUnd_ and slide sideways, hand clenching around and around and around the stick in their palm. The bright blue spears flare and shoot up from the ground, bright so bright. They see _frO_ mtHE **_siDe_** and skid towards the edge of Waterfall, rocks pebbling into the abyss below. Spears strike from the side, air hissing as they ruffle clothes and hair. 

They cannot fail.

So they sink s i n k drowndrowndrown in Determination. The SOUL pulses and cracks and leaks and they forget the sound of braying laughter. They forget the feel of floppy white ears. They forget bad puns. They forget pie. They forget and forget and forget and forget and  _ b r e a k _

They refuse.

And magic bends and time stutters and they slide between spears, nicking clothes. They feel the rush of air, the burn of magic passing too close. They duck and strands of hair fall delicately to the rock floor. They dodge and the stick is two inches shorter. 

The red burns in the black, scarred socket and Undyne clenches her teeth so hard they chip. Her gestures become frantic, desperate and they dodge and duck and spin and slide and

they cannot fail.

They strike.

The stick, even broken as it is, still carries their intent, their determination. And it cuts true. Undyne flinches, the redred  **r e d** in her socket darkens. 

The magic curls, flares, and-

The wound glops together, awkwardly covering the cut in a lumpy mass of flesh. Undyne’s eye flares, brighter than ever, cutting into the gloom of Waterfall.

They cannot fail.

The spears are faster, each attack harder. Sweat is rolling down her scales, her fingertips are fusing together. They feel like they slide through time, each true spear an afterimage of the future ghost. They claw more of the Determination into them, clutching each strand in desperation. 

They cannot die here.

They cannot go back. 

They refuse.

They forget. 

The sound of hacksaw snoring in the room beside theirs. The smell of tea in the morning. The click and clack of knitting needles. The rolls and rolls of pink yarn and callouses and frustration.

They strike.

Undyne’s face sags, cheeks dropping below her chin. Her hands are little more than mitts, the flesh underneath her armour seeps between the cracks and crevices. Her eye flares, she coughs.

They dodge a flurry of spears. No finesse, just death.

She smiles crookedly, upper lip oozing into her teeth. “Damn it… So even  _ that  _ power… it wasn’t enough?”

They pause.

_ Is it over? _

“Heh… heheheh… if you… if you think I'm gonna give up hope, you’re wrong. Cuz I’ve… got my friends behind me.”

They sag, stick drooping. Undyne’s form starts to shrink and they watch, dully.

“Alphys told me that she would watch me fight you… and if anything went wrong, she would… evacuate everyone.”

No obstacles.

They smile.

Undyne snarls and spits a glob that may have been a tooth at one point. “By now she’s called Asgore and told him to absorb the six human SOULs. And with that power… this world will live on!” Her legs dissolve completely and she collapses to the floor with a clank. Armour sagging, ichor oozing around it. 

They take shambling steps up to her, staring down at the growing puddle of mud and magic. She glances up, scarred socket black, and gurgles spit down her chin.

They lift

and drop.

Their sneakers squoosh as they step around the empty armour. The way is clear and they walk, leaving muddy footprints.

The motions become repetitive. The lift and strike and walk. The dust settles everywhere and grinds under their skin and clutters up their nose and coats their tongue in grit. None pose a threat, all are struck down yet they stand and they fight. But the obstacles are brief. Each fight easier than the last. And it makes them smile _ sm I l e smiLE  _ until dust permanently stains their teeth grey and the tar from their throat mingles with it.

They fight and slide through time and dodge and duck and no one poses a threat but…

they cannot stop.

So they  _ d r o w n _

and forget

The smell of wet fur. Insects crawling over hands. The taste of snails. The feeling of a large paw engulfing their own small hand. The rough texture of horns. The burn of fire magic. Smiles and eyes and laughter and love.

They know the small, fragile SOUL is something precious. As it s c r e a m s they push so the Determination avoids it. It is agony yet they cannot separate fully. The magic glues them together as it consumes and burns and thrashes. 

That’s okay.

Only one has to be there in the end.

Their skin drips off in chunks and they dribble black sludge constantly. It chokes their throat and stains bones black and is so cooland _ nice _ on the scorch of fire through their SOUL. They rub and rub and rub and rub Mom’s dust into their marrow so before they forget she will be inside something she loves. Loved. In a different time a different place but partially remembered kisses and warm hugs and smiles can’t be wrong. And they forget and that’s okay because she hugs them inside and grates in their joints and she would be s o  p r o u d.

The elevator is quiet.

They enter a house and a half remembered memory sparks. Their shambling takes them forward and-

An odd yellow flower pops through the floorboards. It smiles, eyes bright and they…

can’t

remember. It’s important. Something niggles and twists and the desperate hold on the magic slips slightly. They know it? They did… angry with… 

It slips away.

The flower speaks and it tells them a story and-

_ Chara _

a name so familiar and it must be theirs. But what is this  _ thing  _ doing saying it? They are not Chara here not now in a body they stole with another SOUL inside. They choke on anger and rage and move their legs but

it

escapes.

And keeps c o m i n g.

Words that sound so familiar but foreign. A She and a He they should know. The faint impression of fur and the smell of charcoal. And they

they

**_H A T E_ **

and it says

_ Chara _

_ Chara _

_ CharaCharaCharacHa _ **_RACharA_ **

**_C H A R A_ **

It has no  _ right _ . They have no  _ right. _ They are nothing. They are dead. They are Determined.

They cannot lose sight of the goal.

It trembles and shakes and HA

ha

It gets mad and it runs and there are no obstacles.

The end is close.

The corridor is bright and they are so eager. The Determination is a crackling force inside and the small SOUL shakes and screams but it is  _ safe.  _ They are  _ done. _

“heya.”

Something is in the way.

“you’ve been busy, huh?”

They feel…

As if they should  _ know _ this.

A skeleton who smiles so grim.

“so, i've got a question for ya. do you think even the worst person can change? that everyone can be a good person, if they just try?”

And despite the halt of progress. The continued agony that vibrates their bones. They want to

say

_ No. _

_ Rot is rot is rot is never changing and you stay bad and you ruin everything and you break and you kill and you kill and you kill and bad is bad is bad is rotten to the core _

The hands have almost no fingers left and they lift the cracked and peeled stick and the blackened bones and gritty skin manage

_ NO _

The skeleton seems surprised but the expression quickly falls.

“heh heh heh heh… all right. well here’s a better question. do you wanna have a bad time? ‘cause if you take another step forward… you are  _ really _ not gonna like what happens next.”

They are Determined.

“welp. sorry, old lady. this is why i never make promises.” 

Something about that is f u n n y. They smile  _ theyneverstopped  _ and their cheeks are dripping over their teeth they can feel something oozing under their chin, leaking through the gaping hole to their chest. 

The skeleton sighs, glancing over at the massive stained glass windows. “it’s a beautiful day outside. birds are singing, flowers are blooming. on days like these, kids like you…”

**_TI_ ** **me** rIpS

S

S

**St** _ oPs _

They push off the floor, sneakers skidding, splattering flesh and tar and muscle all over. Bones launch through the floor, spraying dust. The lines of white crash into the wall at the end of the hall. The room shakes. They jump and sP **a** **_cE tWiSts_ ** a bone clips their sneaker and they stumble. They scramble, palms sliding against the tile, streaking red and white. The bones crack a pillar and it spiderwebs. 

_ not enough _

It’s n o t good enough

They can’t 

stop

go back

lose

They duck behind a pillar and it vibrates against their back. They reach for the magic, the red _ red _ **_redRed_ ** and clench it tighter around their SOUL. They PUSH and PUSH the small SOUL away and they br e a k and c r ack and fo r g et. The pillar scrunches and crumbles and they jump away. It collapses, spewing dust and rock across the hallway. They duck and bones fly over their head, ruffling their clothes. Bright white beams of pure magic crackle and boil their skin. They duck and dodge and leap and their skin smears and they heave ichor and they-

they are-

they

F O R G E T

“s h o u l d  b e  b u r n i n g  i n   h e l l.”

Massive animal skulls with bisecting jaws spit hot white magical energy at them. Bones crack pillars and walls and shatter windows. The Determination boils their bones and eats through skin and the black and red sludge of their insides glop and leak and slop.

“our reports showed a massive anomaly in the timespace continuum. timelines jumping left and right, stopping and starting… until suddenly, everything ends. heh heh heh… that’s your fault isn’t it?”

They only want

T O  G O

They run, seconds ahead of the crackling magic and lines and lines of bones. The Determination boils and beneath their shirt the bottom of their ribcage stretches and thins and slides slowly downdowndown.

“you can’t understand how this feels. knowing that one day, without any warning… it’s all going to be reset. look, i gave up trying to go back a long time ago. and getting to the surface doesn’t really appeal anymore, either. cause even if we do… we’ll just end up right back here, without any memory of it, right? to be blunt… it makes it kind of hard to give it my all… or is that just a poor excuse for being lazy? hell if i know. all i know is… seeing what comes next… i can’t afford not to care anymore.”

They run to a pillar, hands smearing against the rock. And there is an opening and they lunge and lift and-

miss?

Red **reD** burns and the skeleton stutters and sides out of the way, turning his head to give them a grin a grin  _ on their face too ha. ha. _

“what? you think i'm just gonna stand there and take it?”

They duck a wave of bones, feel the heat of energy against their back. The skin on their abdomen splits and sags and black and red and yellow spills onto the floor. A puddle of oozing tar chunks of meat and organ spilling and sliding and they slip, squelching. Their hands press against a piece of intestine and they try to pick the piece from what’s left of their fingers. 

“listen, kid. i know the signs of timeline overload. you’ve got too much dt, determination. and it’s eating you. there isn’t gonna be anything left if you keep it up. even a human body isn’t meant to hold that much and you’ve been busy, kid. every SAVE every RESET… is just another tally on your SOUL. and your SOUL? your SOUL is too saturated to be normal… i dunno what weird human thing you’ve done but you gotta stop… before you break.”

They wobble to a stand, pants soaked in guts and meat and slime. Their shirt sticks to their ribs and the hollow scoop below that. They are agony. They are fire. Their bones are heat and lava and they can see **see** _ sEE _ the Determination seeping into them, cracking and burning and blackening.

They have to

They have to save

the small, delicate, kind SOUL. the SOUL that they push and can’t separate but need to keep safe. The SOUL that deserves it that needs it that has to be kept safe.

“welp, it was worth a shot. guess you like doing things the hard way, huh?”

They lift and lunge and miss. The red boils around the skeleton and they slide in the congealing puddle on the floor. Bones splatter the chunks all over, flashing through the floor and it boils and dries and evaporates as the searing heat of power explodes above. Their hands clench around the broken, blackened stick and finger bones slip together. They are running out of

T I M E

They stumble as leg bones soften, the black and grey of marrow b e nding and liquid red slides into their sneakers. The crackle and dry drydry heat of magic stiffens their skin.

“if you don’t give up now i'm gonna use my special attack. sound familiar? yeah, so, if you survive long enough i'll be forced to use it and you won’t like it.”

They slip on chunks of red and grey and leak tar from their chest and down their cheeks and they s **eE** **_ti_ **

**_m_ **

**_me_ **

**_SpAc_ ** _ eStutt _ **_eR_ ** s

Bones and bones and dust and rocks and white and skulls and hot and red and black and bones and wind and fire and hot and lava and burns and blood and tar and bones and white and heat and magic and-

“huff… puff… all right. that’s it. it’s time for my special attack. are you ready? here goes nothing.”

The magic is hot and red **reD** **_r e d_ ** and it boils the air around it, glittering and shining in the broken light from shattered windows. The skeleton’s eye flares and crackles and smokes, the socket burning grey as Determination flares.

T **iM** e

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ S _ **_tO_ ** ps

They cannot

C **a** **_nNo_ ** _ t m _ oVE

“yep. that’s right. it’s literally nothing. and it’s not gonna be anything, either. heh heh heh… ya get it? i know i can’t beat you. one of these tries… you’re just gonna kill me. so, uh, i've decided there’s never gonna  _ be  _ another try. ever. i'm just gonna keep time stopped until you give up. even if it means we gotta stand here forever, capiche?

No

nononononononononononono

“you’ll get bored here. if you haven’t gotten bored already, i mean. and then, you’ll finally quit. i know your type. you’re uh, very determined, aren’t you? you’ll never give up, even if there’s, uh… absolutely  _ no  _ benefit to persevering whatsoever. if i can make that clear. no matter what, you’ll just keep going. not out of any desire for good or evil… but just because you think you can. and because you “can”...  you “have to.””

They wanted to scream and cry and pound and rip and tear and bite and scratch and twist and turn r u i n  e v e r y t h i n g.

It cannot end  _ here _

They will not loosen their hold on the Determination.

They are  _ so close _

_ They cannot go back. _

“but now, you've reached the end. there is nothing left for you now. so, uh, in my personal opinion... the most "determined" thing you can do here? is to, uh, completely give up. and…” He yawns. “do literally anything else.”

They are unable to completely separate from the other SOUL. Yet they can P U S H until it  _ screams _ long and loud and they can keep it safe as they focus and channel the magic. The Determination chews at their own beaten, cracked and tattered SOUL and they give it an outlet. They give it

a channel.

Black ichor leaks from their eyes, dribbling and mixing into the softening bones of their skull. The world darkens as their eyes bubble and pop and red _ r e d _ boils and smokes from their sockets. 

They have  _ more _

They are  _ all Determination _

The skeleton is snoring and they take heavy, wet steps towards his form. Their hands  tighten around the stick and it glows so red. Determination leaks from the gaping hole in their stomach, their sockets, their mouth and between each rib and bones and-

He dodges, sliding through  _ sPa _ **_cE_ ** “heh, didja really think you would be able-”

They spit red and black and  _ mO _ **_ve_ ** **Thr o** **_uGH_ ** t

i

_ i _

_ M _ **_E_ ** _ AnD _ sp **Ac** **_e_ **

Their stick come up in the past and future and present and comes down on skeletons and skeletons all staring and sleeping and smiling and bleeding and burning and dissolving and-

“........so … guess that’s it, huh? ...just… don’t say I didn't warn you.” the Determination bleeds through the cut and curls in the air.

**_Ti_ ** _ mE  _

  
  
  
  
  


_ S _ **_taRTs_ **

And the obstacle staggers away, leaving dust with every stumbling step.

“welp. I’m going to grillby’s. papyrus, do you want anything?”

There is the sound of dust, the shh shh shh as it blows in the wind of the broken windows. They stagger forward, always forward, and they have to be done and finish and-

and

something.

They walk and walk and walk through bright yellow flowers and they are all 

p **aiN** **_aNd_ ** _ HaTE _

And there is an obstacle. Horns and fur and golden and purple and they  _ know  _ this or they should but all they grasp is blank blank blankness.

“Curious. I’ve never seen a plant… cry before.” The voice is soft and concerned and they-

they-

“Huh?” He turns and eyes that are kind and soft and a smile and they-

_ blankblankblankblankblank _

“You must be the one that flower just warned me about. Howdy!” He cocks his head and the sun filters across his golden crown. “Erm... what kind of monster are you? Sorry. I cannot tell. Well, we can always-”

They are filled with Determination.

“Now, now. There’s no need to fight.” He smiles so soft and-

_ blankblankblankblankblankblank _

“Why don’t we settle this over a nice cup of tea?”

_ blankblankblankblankblank _

The obstacle blinks as they lift

and drop.

It falls to its knees, dust streaming from between the broken armour. Eyes wide, shocked, betrayed. 

_ blankblankblankblank _

“Why… you…”

And they lift once more, red streams of Determination evaporating into the bright, sunny space. Small white pebbles ring around the obstacle and close in-

They should know…

They strike and the dust falls in a cloud on their bones and for some reason

they

feel

like two things that have been separated

are together

at last.

A bright white soul hovers and the ring of bullets strikes. It breaks, cracks, and falls to pieces that fade before they touch the ground. That  _ flOw _ **_eR_ ** appears in a hump of dirt and gives them a nervous smile.

“See? I never betrayed you! It was all a trick, see? I was waiting to kill him for you! After all it’s me your best friend! I’m helpful. I can be useful to you. I promise I won’t get in your way!” It trembles and the face the face the face

**_w h y is it wearing t h a t  f a c e_ **

“I can help… I can… I can…  _ please don’t kill me.” _

They strike and strike and watch the flower crumple and split and they they they they it is a lie and no one has that voice and no one has that face and it lieslieslies and he is deaddeadeadeadead  _ Yo _ **_U kiLL_ ** _ e _ d  **_h_ ** _ i  _ **_M YO_ ** _ u  _ **_Ki_ ** **lLeD** h **I** **_M yo_ ** U  _ kI _ **_ll_ ** ED **H** **_I M_ **

There is a mushy pile of green and yellow and bright red _ r e d  _ **RED** in front of them and they stagger and stumble and lurch forward until the bright whitewhitewhite of the barrier is before them. The fire and crackle of magic buzzing across their blackened bones. They lift a hand. Finger bones dark and cracked and oozing magic, molding together and scraps of liquid flesh trapped between joints. They

P

U

S

H

It goes dark.

_ “It’s me your best friend!” _

The Determination fights and boils and reaches for the past and time unravels and they clench and force it forward. Always forward. Forwardforward For w a r d. They can feel their bones melting, the Determination running them through and dripping and they stagger on soft fibula’s and tibia’s but they keep g o i n g

f _ or _ **_WarD_ **

It peels

tears

consumes

“ _ I can be useful to you.” _

They fall from their shoes onto nothing nothing because there is nothing here in between time and space. Their ankles dissolve into a puddle of black and white and redre **D** and they c r a w l

_ foR _ W **arD**

_ “I promise I won’t get in your way!” _

The void the nothing the space between the spaces fills them up and drips from their spaces and gaps and chokes and oozes and their hands smear behind them on nothingnothing nothing the stumps of blackened bone scraping as they d r a g

**fOr** **_waR_ ** d

_ “Chara.” _

Their ulna’s and radius’ slip and bend and ooze and they hit their head as their face s me a r s and there is only the elbow left and they slide on pushing with kneecaps and elbows and they dribble black from their teeth and the end the end the end the end

There.

The Determination  floods through the opening, the gap in the nothing. The future the escape the freedom. The small, pathetic SOUL trembles and shivers as you pull it forward. Your own tattered, blackened, cracked SOUL hovers in front and you

P

U

L

L

The magic burns and boils and you can feel the small SOUL twist and writhe in agony but you force it

**_F O R W A R D_ **

and streams of coloured magic twist and thin as you peel it from your own. Cyan, blue, green, yellow, purple, orange. Re **D** **_rEd_ ** _ R e d.  _ The opening burns bright with Determination, the channel is ready and the small SOUL slowly approaches freedom and the future and without you youyouyou.

“ _ Chara.” _

and 

and

_ “Chara?” _

You stop.

You cry into the nothing the nothing to a SOUL that doesn’t understand and you scream

**_I’m S O R R Y_ **

**_I just_ ** _ want to know _

If

If

It’s true

The Determination is

P U L L E D

And you 

**_B U R N_ **

_ “Please don’t kill me.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow updates and ask me questions on my tumblr!
> 
> http://barkingpup49.tumblr.com/


	11. Is It You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter before the last couple :3

_ “------! ------!” A furry body flies into you, floppy ears whacking your face.  _

 

_ “Pffft, Asriel what the hell?!”  _

 

that’s wrong your voice sounds what does your voice sound like your vocal cords burn.

 

blank  _ tuts at both of you. “Language, ------.” _

 

their voice is monotone and odd and they are dark and blurry and grey and who is that

 

_ Asriel laughs, clinging to your neck. His cold nose presses into your skin and you squawk, batting him away. He relents just so he can give you big brown eyes. _

 

_ “You promised today we’d go shopping!” _

 

_ You frown, already imagining the horrors of clothes shopping. Asriel notices and whines, tugging at your sweater. _

 

_ “C’mon, you promised!” _

 

blank  _ smiles  _ blank _. “You two are getting pretty big. I can always knit you sweaters but shoes.”  _ Monotone sigh,  _ “are beyond my capabilities.” _

 

_ You grimace again and scratch absently at your  _ what color are you your skin is soft so soft. “ _ Fine. But I want donuts afterwards.” _

 

_ Asriel squeals and releases you from his furry hold. He’s shedding again and leaves small white hairs all over you. You pluck one off and flick it. It comes back.  _

 

blankblankblankblankblank

 

_ “Alright!” Asriel throws up clawed white hands. “Donuts!” He grabs your  _ soft hand and presses and sinks and what color what color  _ and starts dragging you down the cobblestone road.  _

 

_ “Ack you dork!  _ blank  _ knows where to go!” _

 

_ He grins sheepishly -snort- and nods. His furry hands and the sharp, gentle prick of claws on your skin is familiar and you feel _

 

something welling up inside you he needs to be saved to be saved to be saved

 

_ Asriel gets measured for new shoes, the tiny pink tip of his tongue poking out between his fangs as he chooses colours and styles. You flinch whenever the  _

 

blankblankblankblank

 

_ “------, come see! My garden is blooming!” _

 

_ You approach, watering can gripped in two hands. It was  _ blankblankblank  _ so still too large and heavy for your small hands. You stand beside your excited adoptive brother. In the pile of dirt and small coloured wood fence his flowers have buds and petals and they are beautiful. _

 

_ You glance at your own fenced in garden.  _

 

_ “Heh, good job.” _

 

_ He pauses, places the watering can down. And hugs _

 

the press and the sink and you and you and you don’t deserve this you are sick sick sick

 

_ “I’m sure your flowers will grow soon!” _

 

_ You don’t tell him you pulled the tiny green shoots as soon as you saw them. _

 

nothing and nothing and spaces and holes and cracks and breaking and breaking and nothing

 

_ “ _ \------ _?” _

 

_ You stand, heaving and boiling. Your hands are dusty, the prickle of grains falling through your fists. _

 

_ “Hey…. hey….” You can hear the tears and feel the wetness against your back and it fills you with  _ **_r a g e_ ** _. “I-I’m okay. It’s okay.” _

 

_ There are broad, blunt hands around you, wrapping your arms, preventing your movement. There is a wet nose pressing against your back, rubbing back and forth back and forth. _

 

_ Your blood drips from your fists and you relax, peeling your fingernails from your palms. You slump into his broader body. You may be the same height but he takes up more space than you. You are sure he has  _ blankblankblankblank  _ but he is too weak too soft to use it.  _

 

_ The nose pauses. “... you did the scary face again.” _

 

_ You flinch. “.....sorry.” _

 

_ “N-no… I guess… it's not as scary when… it's used for good.” _

 

_ You snort. “You mean against assholes.” _

 

_ “.....they didn't mean it.” _

 

_ “They were hurting you.” _

 

_ You feel his mouth open. Close. _

 

_ He cannot refute that.  _

 

_ It gives you a thrill of sick victory and you try to quash it down. You are better than that. _

 

no you're not you are bad you are rotten and torn and bleeding and limping and you are gone gone gone gone

 

_ You are falling.  _

 

_ That’s okay. _

 

_ Soon, it will be done.  _

 

_ Soon, you will be free. _

 

_ It is only when you wake, in pain and heaving, tears running down your face and leg twisted beneath you…  _

 

_ When a small white, furry creature responds to your gross, weak sobbing and asks you if you’re okay and you lash out… _

 

_ And it still helps you up and asks for your name and you give it a glare and gritted teeth but it smiles through its own fear… _

 

_ And you meet things that at least are not human but still too nice to a thing such as you. Who coo and worry and you try and you try to tell them _

 

_ You’re not worth it _

 

_ You’re nothing _

 

_ And only then, lying in the soft bed, bones and skin tingling with the remnants of magic, do you realize… _

 

_ You have traded one prison _

 

_ for another. _

 

_ It takes a while for you to realize that they didn’t bleed red. That the stains and the smell and the coating on your hands, your skin, and teeth and tongue mean nothing to them. _

 

it’s nice to dissolve and float and let the darkness peel piece after piece after piece and there is something touching you small and soft and it pokes and you gather yourself and

 

_ “-------… you won’t forget me will you?” _

 

what does a head feel like

 

_ “Because! … you know you’re my best friend and…” _

 

two arms two hands two legs and feet and surely you are not like him you look different don’t you 

 

“ _ You’ve forgotten so much already.” _

 

have you?

 

“ _ Don’t you have something to do?” _

 

do you?

 

_ You are walking through the tall, wet grass of  _ blankblank  _ he’s ahead of you, making large furrows in the thick weeds. _

 

_ “Oi! Asriel! Wait up!” _

 

sound sound your voice is wrong wrong why does it hurt

 

_ He laughs and vanishes as he flops down. You sigh.  _ blank  _ is going to be mad about the dirt. It doesn't stop you from flopping beside him with a loud, dramatic groan. He laughs, brown eyes crinkling. _

 

_ “Don’t be a poopyhead! You love it!” _

 

_ You sigh and stare up at the sparkling cavern above you. You still give him a small punch to the shoulder and he fakes hurt.  _

 

_ “Hey…” _

 

_ He glances over at you, fur slick with water. _

 

“Who am I?”

 

_ He smiles, still sporting some flat baby teeth. “I dunno. That’s your job to figure out.” _

 

_ You give him an unimpressed glare and he snorts, flicking the end of your nose. You rub it, offended.  _

 

“What do I look like?”

 

_ “You look like a big dork!”  _

 

_ You roll over on top of him. Your legs barely clear his sides. He’s so wide just like  _ blankblank _. _

 

are you that wide do you have soft brown eyes and small nubs that will be horns

 

_ You grab his ears and fold them over his eyes. He snorts and laughs, his hands waving ineffectually in your vague direction.  _

_ “You’re still a dork! You can’t break me!” _

 

but you’re broken

 

“ _ What? No, you weirdo. You’re fine the way you are.” _

 

_ He stops struggling and you are sure beneath  those soft ears his eyes are staring right into yours. _

 

redredredred a wrong colour and it’s all over you and it surrounds you and it pulls and pulls and pulls

 

“I don’t deserve this.”

 

_ You let his ears go and he flicks them back, staring at you sadly.  _

 

_ “I know.” _

 

_ You clench your hands. _

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

_ He smiles. “I forgive you.” _

 

there is redredredred and it is moving you and you can’t go you want to dissolve to be gone gone gone gone forever and ever and ever

 

_ You open your eyes to the darkness. The form standing over you is _

 

painpainpain get away leave me a l o n e

 

“ _ \-----?” _

 

is that you is that your name it sounds so wrongwrongwrong

 

_ “Another nightmare?” _

 

_ You nod, not trusting your voice  _

 

you don’t have one

 

_ He pushes at your arm and you slide over. He rustles the blankets and his feet are freezing as he slides in beside you. _

 

_ “Have you been sleeping on ice?! Your feet are freezing!” _

 

_ He snorts and presses his pads against your skin even harder. You kick him but the blankets get in the way so you only manage a weak tap. _

 

_ “Get, you furry stupidhead!” _

 

_ “Never!” _

 

_ You fight under the blankets, legs twisting, and he manages to pin one of your legs with two massive paws. _

 

_ “Ugh, I’m dying from cold feet!” _

 

_ He snorts and presses harder.  _

 

_ “I see… the light…” _

 

_ “I think you should remember.” _

 

but it’s so nice to just float and dissolve and give up

 

_ “Aren’t you forgetting something?” _

 

a small poke of awareness still connected and clinging to you in the dark the dark and it needs to be protected and it deserves

 

_ You sigh and snuggle deeper into the covers. He relents and allows you to cling to his furry form. He is comforting, safe and you feel like you can relax. _

 

“I failed.”

 

_ “Yeah.” _

 

“Because of you.”

 

_ “Yeah.” _

 

“But… you’re…”

 

deadeadeadead you killed him you killed him you are rotten and bad and never forgive never ever ever

 

_ “Yeah.” _

 

_ You turn over and stare into his eyes. They’re _

 

redredredred and black and his horns curl in twisty patterns and he towers over you

 

_ “You are too.” _

 

are you?

 

_ “You still want to save me.” _

 

yesyesyesyesyes sorry sorry so sorry so so so so 

 

_ He stares at you with beady black eyes, thin mouth turned into a frown. His petals flop and flap as he moves and you are surrounded by thick green vines. _

 

“Is it true?”

 

_ His head tilts, ears flopping. His eyes are bloodshot, fur matted with tears. There’s yellow on his paws, smeared on his clothes. He holds out a paw and you see _

 

yellowyellowyellow

 

“Is it really you?”

 

_ His eyes are squinted, the redredred of his irises barely seen in the thick nest of eyebrows and lashes. Brown hair frizzes around his round face, mouth pulled into a frown.  _

 

that’s wrong wrong not him not him

 

_ “I don’t know.” _

 

wrong voice from the wrong face and it’s all wrong all wrong and 

 

_ “But you failed.” _

 

i did

 

_ “And it’s still there. With you.” _

 

what is?

 

_ He points with pale fingers that aren’t his. You turn  _ or don’t  _ and there is _

 

small so small and weak and those missing pieces are your fault your fault and it clings and the darkness presses and seeks and the red around you is all that keeps it safe and it’s

 

“Mine.”

 

_ He blinks at you with eyes that aren’t his. _

 

“It’s all mine.”

 

_ You stare at the small pale SOUL that clings to the tattered remains of your own. The redre d around you is yours and it pulses and glows with power. And it leaks away, crawling through the darkness to a point in the _

 

“I have to go back.”

 

_ He grins, flashing his blunt baby teeth. He rubs the tips of his long ears, a nervous habit he never got rid of. And he is soft and he is kind and he is the only safety you ever allowed. _

 

_ “I think you should wake up now.” _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Who am I?”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“I’m Chara.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
You wake in a small garden of yellow flowers, tears drying on your cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can follow and ask me questions on my tumblr!
> 
> Http://barkingpup49.tumblr.com/


	12. You/They Wake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I *was* going to write more but I figured with my work hiatus you guys deserved a new chapter. Plus it was getting a tad long and would have been a little toooo long where I *wanted* to chop it off.
> 
> And yeah, I haven't abandoned anything I just went to work for months without cell service and had so many hours I didn't get much writing accomplished :3

Flowers tickle your nose and the heavy scent of pollen makes you want to sneeze. You are lying on your back and far, far above you shines a small pinprick of light. Motes glitter as they pass through the muted beam. You feel heavy. There is a weight on you, pressing you down, and every breath struggles as you lift your diaphragm up…. and down…. up…. and down. You can feel the tickle of grass and leaves on your skin but you can’t pinpoint where. You manage to blink s l o w l y and it’s a fight to slide your lids open. It would be nice to lie and stare and never ever get up. Something tickles and you think your skin jumps but you are not sure. You heave your head, rolling it over with a puff of pollen and rustle of weeds. There is a single, lone ant waving at you, inching up your(?) arm. 

 

Something is wrong.

 

You watch it crawl, slowly, and it’s feet stick and you feel the tingle vaguely. Is it your arm? The colour… seems off. You focus. Your brain feels sluggish, filled with cotton, but you manage a single twitch of a pinky. It must be your arm then. The ant has paused, antenna waving. You see the clench of fingers and the muscles bunch. The ant tugs and you feel it  _ inside _ . It’s antenna twitch as you swallow it up. A small lump in your arm, the tickle of legs against your bones. You manage to lift your hand, your wrist, then bend at the elbow. 

 

It’s yours. 

 

There’s another one on the other side. You twitch those fingers and they brush the grass and petals. 

 

Must be yours, too.

 

You lift both arms and they feel so so so heavy. The wrists flop and you attempt to clench the hands into fists. The individual fingers begin to slide together, creases lost as your skin smoothes out. You snap the hands open and skin slups and drips and smoothes and

 

something is wrong

 

You cannot keep the arms up for any longer and drop them back into the flowers in a puff of pollen and dust. That’s…

 

you can’t feel-

 

You twitch a finger and the brush of leaves and grass on your skin trickles through slowly. Muted and cotton filled. Something spasms, a faint tingle in your awareness and you roll your head through dirt and old roots to glance down down

 

You have legs.

 

You can't feel-

 

The legs tremble, feet jerking in the flowers. There are furrows in the dirt and the roots, the pants muddy and yellow. They scrabble, heels scraping against the ground before freezing and shaking. Through the haze you

 

feel

 

**p A** **_n_ ** I c

 

_ The  _ tooM **u c h** An _ D w _ heRE W **hAT NOISE** **_nOISe toOOOO_ **

 

You reach for the ball of agony, mental fingers grasping and brushing and sinking and

 

It reaches

 

back

 

It feels so natural to cradle the ball, to reassure it. You attempt to 

 

to

 

Pain thrums through the connection you’ve made and the ball shrieks. 

 

WR _ onG  _ **_WroN_ ** **g**

 

You pull back.

 

The body sits up.

 

You can vaguely feel the brush of leaves, the tickle of pollen as it settles on the face, hands that grasp and grip at nothing. You cautiously slip closer and you can smell the sweetness in the air, the cloying taste of compost in the back of your mouth, and you… look…

 

down…

 

something is wrong  _ W _ **_ro_ ** **N** g

 

There is a heart hovering over your chest. Filaments of cyan, orange, green- stretching and oozing from it to you. You lift a curious finger and prod a dark blue string. It drips and melds to your digit, leaking droplets of blue down your knuckles that fade the farther they get from the strand until they vanish. The heart is-

 

The heart-

 

Something inside of you says it’s supposed to be a childish stylized drawing, bright and whole. The heart in front of your chest is almost rent in two, the halves barely connected at the bottom of the point. It is torn and fractured, oozing black ichor. And yet it holds. A spiderweb of opaque red cradles the heart together, a thick pulsating rope of bright redred _ red  _ seeping out of your chest.

 

You reach for-

 

Y  **O** **_U_ **

 

**_and_ ** **it’S** li _ kE Y _ **_O_ ** **U aRe t**  t  _ toUchING _ eveRy **whEre** **_AnD_ ** **NoWHE** re It _ ’s s s yOU cOnd _ **_eNSEd it_ ** _ ’S yOUr p _ **_AiN aND_ ** _ ThE  _ **_t_ ** **ouCH of fUR AND** **_lOve and An_ ** **geR AnD-**

 

**_It’s me_ **

 

**_C H A R A_ **

  
  
  
  
  
  


_? _

 

The body heaves, something wet runs down the cheeks and the arm lifts, fingers tentatively running through the thick trails.

 

They come back black and sticky.

 

There is someone else inside with you. A small ball of confusion and pain. Half formed thoughts and feelings reach out, flare and are cut off abruptly. The arms twitch without you controlling them and apologies flood through the connection.

 

_ Nonono it's okay it’s okay _

 

The ball twitches and jerks-

 

_ LoUDtoolouD FeEl? feEL Too MucH _

 

And you can see a small stylized heart glowing faintly through the skin of the body’s chest. The coloured strings spiderweb all over the heart, pulsating, that leaks into the misshappen one suspended above the body. The redrEd string is thickest at this small hearts base and as you watch the red  _ beats _ the colour flaring into the web holding the cracked heart together.

 

_ Hello? _

 

Tangled confusion horror  _ SoRRy _ fear and agony  _ NoT nOT RiGht  _ worry  _ HeLlO??  _

 

_ I’m FrISK/CHARA _

 

A pause. A beat.

 

_ i’M FrISk _

 

_ I’m CHARA _

 

There is a separation a pull and the threads thin and the hearts beat beat beat not together.

 

_ NoT rIGht sOrRySoRRy _

 

_ What… do you… mean? _

 

The- Frisk… Frisk sends a feeling and it’s of touching cold metal in the snow but muted and thin like trying to feel through thick wool. There is a garbled mess of emotion behind the... memory? None of the sensations stand out and they flare like coals and die just as quick. The gentle wash of wind over skin, a brush of fabric across a leg, garbled sounds that string together into an incomprehensible mess.

 

_ NoT rIghT fEEl toO MucH _

 

_ It’s… okay. Lemme… gimme… _

 

You grasp down the connection and now you can sense the individual body parts. The lines and whorls that make up each piece and the faint red glow that infuses where the- where Frisk is connected. Ever so delicately you sink into the hearing, spreading yourself across the tightly curled loops of brain and into the small springs of the ears.

 

_ Better? _

 

Grateful, happy, nodnodnod

 

_ Okay. _

 

Frisk holds still as you spread even further. It feels so… familiar. Every loop, curl, and branch. Slowly, you feel the tickle of leaves on your ankles where your jeans have ridden up. The cloying taste of compost and sweet pollen on the back of your throat. The clumps of brown hair that cling to your face, obscuring your vision down to a curtain. Tentatively, you lift an arm and brush the bangs away. Your skin ripples as your fingers pass over, the  _ slick  _ of skin adhering to skin as you pull away. It feels familiar yet… not quite right. The sound of wind through the empty hallway is muffled. The feeling of ants crawling on your arms muted. For every place you spread to there is a force pushing against you and you don't… remember… 

 

It’s supposed to be like  _ this. _

 

You

 

P

U

S

H

  
  
  


_ A  _ **_G On Y_ **

 

Through the arcing pain you can feel the body spasm and seizure. Frisk is a whirlwind of panic and worry but every time they reach for you it  _ hurts _ and they pull back. Your SOUL shivers and leaks tar and only the determined spiderweb of magic keeps it together as it fractures. You pull yourself from the body entirely, huddling as remnants of the horrifying agony ripple through your consciousness. Something like disbelief briefly flashes through you as if this  _ shouldn't  _ happen but it passes just as quick and you are only left with fear and pain. Slowly, you regain your equilibrium and your SOUL stops attempting to crack.

 

_? OkAy? _

 

This inquiry isn't painful and you reach back.

 

_ I think… so?  _

 

A satisfied hum. You really don't want to attempt any body snatching right now and you convey this to Frisk. Unfortunately, they seem to have the inability to do anything and after several flopping and sad attempts to stand up you grasp control.

 

_ See? _

 

Frisk is an attentive passenger and your tottering steps (the muffled feelings are weird and strange and not  _ right)  _ seem to drive them into action. They wobble around, determined to accomplish walking. The flowers and dried creepers are crushed beneath worn sneakers and Frisk reaches down to a smear of yellow.

 

They pop the entire thing in their mouth.

 

_ NO!  _

 

They spit it out immediately, face still blank but the burning painful heat filters through your consciousness. And YOU

 

_ Burning and blood and shit and vomit and the agony of your insides and his fur is stained yellow because when you try to eat they blister your palms and he feeds them to you with gentle stained claws and he is crying always crying and- _

 

_ SoRRysoRrYnoT aGain PleAsE _

 

The memory fades to a tickle in the back of your consciousness. If you had a body you would be heaving. Frisk has collapsed it to the ground, hands clenching and unclenching through the broken heart above their chest. The red spiderweb across the cleaved thing pulses and spreads further, sealing the pieces together. Frisk is a roiling mess of panic and worry and you shakily reach out to comfort them. It feels right.

 

_ I’m...fine...okay? _

 

_ SoRry SorRY DoN’T LEAVe mE PlEASe _

 

You are confused but try to give the other a pat. A mental pat. 

 

_ Okay. I promise. _

 

Frisk is still muttering panicked mental thoughts, their control tenuous as the body jerks and twitches. 

 

You don't have time for this.

 

You have something to…

 

to…

 

You slide into the legs and feet and toes. Frisk keeps the hands hovering above the broken heart but all you need is the legs. You stand.

 

Well, attempt.

 

It is surprisingly hard to stand up without the use of arms.

 

You sway on your third attempt but don’t fall and let out a huff of accomplishment. It feels odd, like your mouth doesn't move right. That’s okay. You have things to do. You take tottering steps away from the crushed flower patch and into the gloom of the cavern around you. The sun is dim the further away from the large hole you get. The smell of rot becomes thicker, the roots under your sneakers squishing instead of crackling. As you walk, Frisk loses the overwhelming panic and begins to shift their eyes around the vine covered rock. You would tell them to stop (trying to walk without looking where you are going is  _ hard) _ but the wonder and happiness is…

 

Something Frisk deserves. 

 

You stop at a large patch of sunlight.

 

A single, large yellow flower stares at you.

 

“S-so you th-thought that w-w-would kill me?” 

 

You stare.

 

“W-well you’re wrong! A-and I-”

 

You reach out.

 

It squeaks, black eyes widening before shooting into the ground in a spray of dirt and rock.

 

You stare at the hole.

 

Frisk prods you, a vague feeling of query.

 

You don’t understand.

 

You don't  _ know. _

 

What this feeling is. Why you felt so strange looking at a  _ flower. _

 

You desperately want to follow it. To find it again. To… to do something.

 

_ We have… to keep… moving. _

 

_??? okAy? _

 

You force the legs forward, over the hole in the rock and further into the cavern. Something fills you, a feeling, familiar and comforting. Neither inhabitant notices a small strand of bright blue fade and break off the floating heart. The net of red dims and black tar dribbles over it, staining it darker.

 

You feel like something is missing as you walk further through the dull purple hallways. The bridges and water in front fill you with something you can't name. You can vaguely see yellow scrawlings by levers embedded into the wall. Frisk insists you let them touch the water. Despite the purpose egging you forward you acquiesce. The feeling of ice cold, rushing water against soft fingers is muffled and although the delight Frisk feels is cute, it’s also rather boring. They wave their hands through the river, gasping at the ripples and currents they can create. You pull even further from the hands, the cold bothering you even if Frisk is fascinated with it. They shove their wet, cold fingers into their mouth and you hear the giggles inside your shared head. 

 

A gasp.

 

Frisk tilts their eyes up, fingers still inside their mouth. They haven't quite managed facial expressions so their face stays blank while a feeling of-

 

_ warmthlovesafety _

 

rushes through their SOUL at the sight of the tall, white monster at the far end of the hallway.

 

“Oh dear, my child are you hurt?” The figure strides forward, purple tunic swishing around her feet… paws. Frisk reels back, accidently biting through a finger when she reaches for them. The goat monster hesitates but pulls her paws back and kneels beside them instead. Frisk sends a query to you but you are overwhelmed with muddled feelings and of no help.

 

“Please…” Soft brown eyes stare at their squinted ones, paws spread. “If you fell you may be hurt. And wandering around in the Ruins is not safe. Will you let me…?” She trails off, holding a paw out.

 

Frisk stares at the white furred thing. It feels familiar yet…

 

_ Heat and crying and fire and dangerous and I'm sorry _

 

They slide their fingers from their mouth, strands of red and black dribbling. The bitten through finger leaks, cold red liquid oozing down their palm. They ignore the goat woman's gasp and aborted movement to reach down and touch the furry pads.

 

_ OMIGOSH. _

 

They're just as soft as they look!

 

They run soft and sticky fingers across the pink, marvelling at this new sensation. The bitten finger seals itself up but they are still covered in red. Some of the redness smears against the white fur surrounding the pads and they frown internally. The colour and the red smeared fur niggles at their mind. Something about it…

 

Frisk jolts out of the half remembered feelings as heat tickles across their body. They blink, looking around at the crackling fireplace and mass of purple and white in front of them. They are still holding an impossibly soft paw, the goat woman sitting on the floor beside the hearth with a gentle smile on her face. 

 

_ Toriel… _

 

_?? _

 

_ Her name… is Toriel… _

 

They let go of Toriel’s paw and rub their fingers together nervously. The skin is smooth and slides against itself effortlessly. 

 

“My child, are you feeling better?”

 

They stare at her, at Toriel. They are not sure. There are so many things they have not felt, experiences that are new. Are they supposed to feel something different? They glance at the fireplace, the flames, the mantle, the wall, the-

 

“Are you wondering how you got here?” Her voice and her smile are infinitely patient. 

 

Are they? 

 

“You certainly seemed out of it while I carried you here. Didn't even blink when I picked you up. Are my paws that fascinating?” A hint of mirth in the crinkling of her eyes. 

 

They are. 

 

Frisk nods.

 

Toriel giggles, snorting. “Oh my, you flatterer. Regardless of those smooth moves you need a bath and some new clothes, child.”

 

They glance down at their black stained sweater and yellow smeared jeans. The sticky tar on their chin and neck makes the movement uncomfortable. Their hands, still rubbing, are covered in red.

 

Frisk shakes their head.

 

The smile turns into something more stern. “Yes, you do. And when you’re done you can have some food.”

 

Frisk isn't sure they're hungry but the vague impressions of something sweet flood their mind and they suddenly really, really want.

 

Frisk nods.

 

Toriel stands, slowly, every move deliberate. “Bathroom is down the hall to your right, child. I’ll place some clothes outside for you to wear and we can wash the ones you have on.”

 

She strides forward, tunic rustling, and brushes past Frisk. Who flinches. And there is something sad in her eyes before she enters the kitchen and out of sight. Frisk pushes themselves up, leaving red handprints on the wooden floor, and walks down oddly familiar hallways. The first door they find on the right is-

 

**_MINE_ **

 

not the bathroom so they move on. Hm, the next is also not the bathroom. And the third is locked with signs plastered all over. They are confused before you seep into the legs and turn them around. A single door on the opposite side of the hall that, upon opening, is definitely the bathroom. It’s small, almost an afterthought in the house. There’s a giant metal bucket on the floor under a pipe coming from the wall. Above a small washstand is a slightly cracked mirror fixed with glue, a rarity-

 

Wha-

 

You stop the body in front of the mirror, staring. 

 

It’s….

 

you?

 

Your skin is smooth. A tentative finger pressed to a cheek and it dents slightly inward then refills. It looks like a strange mask, seamless and flat. The only definition is the edge of the eye socket, your eyes so sunken the skeleton beneath casts shadows across your eyelids. Your eyes look… empty. You reach towards one, fighting to keep your lid from closing and press forward to… nothing. 

 

No, a slight pressure.

 

Like something pressing down on your fingertip, distorting the skin and bending the nail and alright it’s getting a tad uncomfortable now. You wonder if… the finger pressed on the edge of an eyelid (a weirdly hairless eyelid) and you pull down

 

down

 

down

 

It stretches effortlessly. And black black until the edge of bone can be seen and you stop. Letting go lets it reform and you blink at the weird feeling. 

 

Frisk giggles and brings up the other hand to poke at an eyeball.

 

You open your mouth, ignoring Frisk’s annoyance and stare at the black insides and grey stained teeth. A cautious pull on a thin lip and it stretches just as easily, the edge of a jawbone flashing between the wet, black insides. Frisk manages to stick an entire finger into the socket and is wiggling it around, delighting in the shivery pain not-pain.

 

and you don’t know if this is normal.

 

It feels wrong yet right and you can vaguely remember

 

_ Melting and boiling and burning _

 

but it’s different and-

 

Frisk touches something that flashes severe uncomfortable tightness through the back of the head and spine. They pull the finger free, black ooze dribbling and sticking. You wipe the liquid off your cheek. Well, you needed to bathe regardless of the strange feeling your face gives you. It’s unbelievably difficult taking off clothes when Frisk insists on touching and snapping and rubbing everything. You finally remove your underwear after five attempts and walk to the pipe by the bucket. You grasp the handle of the pump, flesh smooshing through your closed fingers, and pump with effort. A gurgle deep within the bowels of the building, magic sparking around the pipe in whorls and eddies. Hot water gushes out with every movement of the handle and it looks so good. So warm. And when was the last time you had a bath anyways.

 

Frisk hops into the bucket with glee, splashing around then licking their fingers and marvelling at the hot water.

 

_ TasTe LIke salT _

 

You feel drained. The day has been so long (you think) and everything is so confusing. You feel like you have to move forward, to find something. But everything about this house tells you to stay. Be safe. Relax. You can't you can't you can't you can't  _ you can't _

 

_ ShhhHhhHhh _

 

Frisk takes control and stills the breathing, covering your consciousness in comfort like a mental hug. They stare down at the pulsating, cracked heart hovering in front of their chest.

 

_ ShhhHhh oKaY don’T LeavE me _

 

You settle into something like sleep and Frisk stares at their grey tinted toenails under the water. 

 

Crap.

 

They're actually not sure how one washes.

 

…….

  
  
  



End file.
